


Mortal Light

by Galena, Poicephalus (Galena)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chronic Illness, Complicated Relationships, Gen, Original Character(s), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 71,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galena/pseuds/Galena, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galena/pseuds/Poicephalus
Summary: AU. Sequel to Frostblood. In the aftermath of Deathwing's fall, mortal Lich King Jaina Proudmoore faces the prospect of her own death and what that means for Azeroth. Co-starring Kel’Thuzad, an abundance of Death Knights, and more druids than necessary.
Comments: 133
Kudos: 118





	1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

It seemed impossible that something so vast and heavily armoured should be able to take flight. In the space between breaths, Jaina Proudmoore pondered how many impossible events she had witnessed in her life. More than was healthy, she decided. More than a mortal ought to.

Deathwing denied impossibility and surged across the surface of the water, slowly outstripping the pursuing gunships. Black smoke poured from the fissures in his armour, from the edges of his ragged wings, and blood like lava spilled out steadily between his teeth. He was injured, but not enough to slow him sufficiently.

Atop Wyrmrest Temple, someone shouted, “He's heading for the Maelstrom!”

“No!” That was Alexstrasza, her voice raw and anguished. “The Maelstrom will allow him back into Deepholm!”

Jaina knew what that meant- in Deepholm, the plane of elemental earth, stood the World Pillar. Deathwing had tried once before to destroy it and bring about a cataclysm that would end Azeroth.

“He must not reach it!”

From her vantage on a lower level of the Temple, Jaina saw Alexstrasza lean out, struggling to spread her shredded wings.

“Save your strength, Lifebinder!” Jaina shouted up to her. She abandoned her place among the heavy artillery and blinked to the deck of an Alliance gunship.

**Kel'Thuzad! Come to me!**

The lich obeyed. Jaina raised her hands, took a deep breath, then wrapped her magic around the entire fleet. There was a boom of displaced air, and every vessel flashed through space, into the dragon’s path.

Deathwing saw the fleet only a split second before he plowed into it. Two hapless Horde vessels- one a gunship, the other a zeppelin- appeared just in front of him. Neither their crews nor Jaina had time to turn the vehicles or stop the collision. Deathwing’s weight and momentum were such that his head burst through both craft, shattering bands of iron and splintering timbers, but for precious seconds his body and wings were tangled in the wreckage.

Before the gas in the zeppelin ignited, Jaina caught a glimpse of the captain: still at the helm, he raised his fist in defiance. The explosion blew an armour plate off Deathwing's neck and rocked him back with billowing force.

Then he shook free and surged away from the fleet again.

Jaina gritted her teeth, teleported them forward and caught him again. She blinked watering eyes, wiped her running nose and saw her sleeve come away streaked with blood. _Even my own arcane magic hurts me now?_ She sniffed back blood and pointed to another Alliance vessel, the closest to his head. This time Kel'Thuzad blinked the two of them across the distance.

“Tell your crew to abandon ship,” Jaina ordered the startled captain. He obeyed without question.

Now the fleet began to close in. Adventurers- heroes- in ones and twos launched themselves with grappling hooks and harpoons, magic and sheer physical strength, from the decks of the ships onto the dragon's back.

And still he plunged onwards, out of gunship range.

Jaina threw her commandeered ship forward one last time. There was no one left aboard to work the cannons but she and Kel'Thuzad were weapons enough.

“ _Deathwing!”_ Amplified by magic, her voice rang out like a death knell, pitiless as the tundra wind.

His eye fixed upon her.

“ _You!_ ” He roared. _“Lich King! Abomination!_ ” His voice made the gunship propellers rattle in their mounts. 

“Me,” she replied with a thin smile. Ice fog crystallized around her.

And he took the bait.

Deathwing opened his jaws and the airship was engulfed in flames. For several seconds, it was all she could do to hold her shields of ice intact against the onslaught.

“Well, you have his attention,” said Kel’Thuzad when the deluge ended.

“Perfect.”

Jaina pelted the dragon’s face with frostbolts. The airships were catching up. More adventurers made it onto Deathwing’s back while his attention was on her, and she gasped, tasted acrid smoke and iron, and kept up the barrage. Blood trickled over her lips and chin.

Deathwing was past threats, beyond words now, and came at the gunship with teeth and claws, taking great bites out of the deck. Jaina and Kel’Thuzad held their ground at the stern as the ship began to list downwards and the doomed zeppelin captain’s face flashed through her mind. _If this should be my end…_

Jaina teleported the Helm of Domination to her hand, settled the ruthless metal crown over her head, and for the first time in her life, she called up the full strength of the Lich King’s power and levelled it at Deathwing’s head.

For a moment, she was blind, seized by vertigo, unable to breathe.

Her vision returned and she watched as one of his horns exploded, cartwheeling away in a spray of molten blood. She blinked, shook her head to throw off bloody sweat. From the heroes on his back, magic of every school tore at him, weapons of every shape and size found the gaps in his armour, and now the gunships dropped below his belly to avoid firing on the fighters above. The boom of cannons became one ongoing roar.

They had him now.

Jaina choked, staggered by agony. Her bones seemed to bow under her own weight, her muscles sagged, and she felt Kel’Thuzad throw his chains around her, buoying her up, forcing her to channel the deadly magic through him instead of herself. Locked in tandem, they focused a gale of sharpened ice through his wings, shredding the membranes, and pulverizing bone.

Deathwing rolled.

Suddenly the airships were firing on their comrades and the heroes clung on with ropes, with magic, with weapons, and bare fingers. Through the haze of pain, Jaina watched in slow motion as a troll warlock grabbed the reaching hand of a human paladin and hurled her upward in a great arc to find purchase again.

In this long moment, they were not Horde or Alliance- they were Azeroth. 

The roll made Deathwing falter and lose altitude. Again, he opened his mouth and Jaina raised a glacial shield of ice. She summoned the water straight up from the ocean, reinforced it with the strongest weaves she knew, and felt it crack and crumble as Deathwing’s infernal breath sublimated the ice to searing steam.

She could hardly breathe. The Lich King’s magic- her own magic- clutched her and throttled her towards undeath. Black splotches clouded her vision.

Kel’Thuzad flung out one hand and gathered the steam into frost. Ice slicked the metal plating Deathwing’s head with the squeal and creak of sudden cooling. The dragon’s jaw jerked sideways, dislocated by the pressure.

Then Deathwing cut the remains of their gunship in half with his tail and took a breath.

There was not enough time for Jaina to summon another shield of any strength.

“My King-!”

Deathwing’s open jaws spanned her vision and he exhaled. Kel’Thuzad was suddenly between them and then gone, vaporized in the dragon’s breath, and Jaina threw her arms up uselessly as fire consumed her.

Jaina woke gasping for breath and stared blankly into the darkness for a moment until she remembered where she was.

“I’m not dead,” she whispered. Her heartbeat raced in her throat. “Not dead.”

The familiar details of her bedchamber in Icecrown Citadel slowly emerged from the darkness. Her eyes, dazzled by imagined fire, adjusted to reality.

The nightmare was insidious because it was almost entirely true.

Jaina sat up and gently rubbed her hands over her face.

She always woke before the part where someone screamed, “Catch her! Catch her, _catch her!!_ ” as she fell, burning, and choking on her own blood. She always woke before the healers reached her. To this day, she couldn’t remember their names but they had been adventurers, bloody and burned themselves. They had saved her life while the rest carried on to fight Deathwing.

It had been a close thing.

When all her shields of magic had failed, it was the Helm of Domination - the symbol and tool of the Lich King’s power - that was her final protection.

The Helm left its mark.

The healers had to separate the scalding metal from her flesh before they could treat the wounds. Jaina was in a state of shock at the time and felt nothing. She stared up, past them, between them, counted every breath as a victory, and knew that if she died here one of these people- these selfless, gracious strangers- would inherit the burden she carried. She fought for consciousness and watched the black smoke slowly clear from a blue maritime sky.

Jaina shuddered as her palms passed over the lines of scar tissue that furrowed her cheeks and bracketed her mouth. There was another scar on the bridge of her nose where the Helm’s nasal projection had seared her to the bone.

Clearly she wouldn’t get back to sleep this morning. _Might as well begin the day._ She washed, dressed, put up her hair, and donned her cloak. This one was made of dense black fur, lined with cheerful Stormwind blue; a gift from King Anduin Wrynn.

Before Jaina left her chamber, she took up a wooden cane. She could not yet walk long distances without it to steady her. It made a dull clink with every other step.

Jaina stood at the top of the stairway that led down to the lower floors of Icecrown Citadel. She had never considered stairs to be a challenge before. Now, she made a small sigh and started down them, one at a time.

It had been some months and still her body struggled to heal. Jaina couldn’t blame it; caught between Deathwing’s burns, past injuries, and the Lich King’s dark magic attempting to drag her into undeath. That magic was not meant to be used by the living, and yet she did.

Perhaps, she mused, she had become one of those impossible things herself.


	2. Hometown Glory

Content notes: mention of alcohol

The regular denizens of Icecrown Citadel were accustomed to Jaina’s early-hours rambling. She was quiet, except for the _clink_ of her cane on the stone floor; a warm, pale apparition among the Scourge.

Sometimes she encountered other restless individuals, veterans and refugees of Azeroth’s conflicts, haunted by their own losses and brushes with death. Some of them greeted her with warmth or at least politeness. Some went about their own business. Some just watched her. But a few talked with her, too hapless and swept up in world events to be put off by her title. All of them assumed she was patrolling or inspecting her little kingdom.

Few people knew she was walking off her nightmares.

This morning, she found two of the people who knew about her nightmares in the northeastern courtyard. The northeastern courtyard had become a training and practise space, big enough for serious magic and even cavalry exercises, and protected enough from the winter wind that the living were willing to go out and use it. It was a popular location.

It was also big enough for Anu’Shukhet to spar and ruin people’s egos, which was exactly what Jaina saw when she arrived. The massive Nerubian warrior stood on a Death Knight, while a weaponless tauren paladin sprinted away from her toward a faintly glowing hammer half buried in the churned up subsoil. A small group cheered encouragement.

Across the courtyard from the gathered adventurers stood four Nerubian soldiers, members of Anu’Shukhet's honour guard. Beside them, leaning against the northern wall with his arms folded, was Kel'Thuzad.

Jaina touched the psychic link that lay dormant and waiting between herself and the lich. The link existed between Jaina and all the Scourge, a tool meant to position troops, relay intelligence, and enforce compliance, but with Kel’Thuzad it also enabled silent communication.

There was an answering touch through the link, a mental nod of acknowledgement.

**The paladin is quite capable,** Jaina remarked. Across the yard, the tauren regained his hammer and rushed Anu’Shukhet’s flank.

_He is,_ said Kel'Thuzad with distaste. _Unlike this other one…_

The downed Death Knight attempted to struggle away when Anu’Shukhet’s attention shifted, but didn’t rise further than their elbows before they collapsed again in defeat. 

A figure jogged out from the crowd and pulled the injured Death Knight over their shoulders.

They approached Kel’Thuzad and the wounded one proved to be an unfamiliar night elf; the other carrying him was Kagra Strangleheart. The orc sneered around her fangs and dropped the elf on his face in front of Kel’Thuzad.

“That was pathetic,” Kagra said. “You’re lucky the lichlord is feeling generous enough to fix you.”

“Oh, it’s not generosity,” said Kel’Thuzad with undisguised glee as he rolled up his sleeves. “I need a test subject.” 

The elf managed to look up at Kel’Thuzad. “You are who?”

Jaina understood his confusion. Presently, Kel’Thuzad looked rather like one of his cultists - an undead human man in black and violet robes, and sinister makeup. The appearance wasn’t intended to confuse or hide his identity, but it had that side effect. All of the Scourge, including the estranged Knights of the Ebon Blade, were trained to recognize function and status by appearance and Kel’Thuzad no longer _looked_ like a lich.

“Where are your manners?” he growled.

The Death Knight quailed. “My apologies, lichlord.”

Kel’Thuzad snapped something at him in Darnassian, and the elf started in surprise. Before he could reply, the lich touched two fingers to the Death Knight's throat. Tendrils of necromantic magic like oily smoke wound down Kel’Thuzad's hand, crawled into the Death Knight’s mouth and down the neck of his armour.

**He’s so young.**

_Just a cub_ . _The first notable thing he did with his life was die._

**What a shame.**

In the middle of the courtyard, the paladin managed to get on Anu’Shukhet’s back and the on-lookers shouted tactics and warnings. Anu’Shukhet rolled. The paladin sprang clear- but failed to dodge her sickle front claw. She swung with the blunt edge but the blow was still enough to knock him flat and give her a decisive victory.

Jaina drew up beside Kel’Thuzad. The night elf’s pained expression melted into something that she couldn't identify.

“My Lady,” he whispered. Kel’Thuzad’s dark mending allowed him to rise to his knees shakily before her. “I am Soffriel Shadowborn. I am honoured to meet you.”

“Welcome to Icecrown, Soffriel.”

* * *

Roxie Rocketsocks burst through the purple veil of the portal, coughing violently. It was the height of summer in Northrend and the air was cool and dry compared to the sweltering pandemonium of a burning city. Roxie blinked her tearing eyes and blew her nose into the tail of her undershirt. The portal sizzled shut behind her.

Behind _them_ . Right. She had _baggage._

The gnome kid picked herself up from where she landed and Roxie winced with second-hand embarrassment. _Who jumps face-first through a portal?_

“Oh no! This- this isn’t Dalaran! Where are we?” she demanded immediately in her squeaky, irritating gnome voice. Roxie had known her for all of ten minutes and that voice was already sawing on her last nerve.

“Gimme a sec, will ya?” Roxie turned in a quick circle, studied the horizons and zeroed in on a hulking silhouette to the east. She pointed. “That's Icecrown Citadel. Dalaran’s southeast of here.”

The gnome didn’t move. She stared eastward and gulped. “Icecrown Citadel? Gosh, it’s uh, it’s… really big. I think. Is it far away? Are we far? Why are we out here? Why aren’t we in Dalaran?”

Roxie raised one eyebrow, then stopped and held up her hands.

“Okay cupcake- here’s what happened. The red-haired dude meant to make a portal that would let us out in Dalaran. But he was distracted by the fires and the screaming and all the Horde soldiers, so he did a hack job of casting the spell.”

The gnome blinked. “Are you sure-”

“Yes. Portal spells require you to know _exactly_ where you’re going. Exactly as in mathematically exactly, not as in ‘there’s three trees on the left and a house with a birdbath’. If you’re distracted, sometimes ya miss.”

The gnome was quiet for a second. “How do you know all that?”

“Because I’m a mail carrier. It’s my job to get from one place to another as fast as possible without getting eaten, drowned, poisoned, kidnapped, crushed, impaled, electrocuted, strangled, shot, mind-controlled-”

“Oh, okay. So do you know how to get to Dalaran from here?”

"Were you listening just now?”

“Right! Yeah. Sorry.”

They had been walking for about seven seconds when the gnome piped up again.

“It’s much warmer here than I thought it would be.”

“It’s summer.”

“But we’re walking on snow?”

“This is a glacier.”

“Wow, I’ve never been this far north before! It’s actually really pretty. Everything is sparkly! How far is it to Dalaran?”

“Get yourself a map at the Citadel.”

“… we’re going _there_?”

“Unless you can fly, yes. We’re going to the Citadel to scrounge up a ride.”

Roxie _hated_ to ask favours. She already owed Jaina Proudmoore for that time with the dragon and it rankled. A good goblin collected debts, she didn’t owe them. The Lady Lich King probably didn’t think of it as a debt, but Roxie did. Her ass had been thoroughly saved that night and all Roxie did was turn around and ride the fastest gryphon she could find away from Menethil Harbour.

And here she was, absolutely flat broke, about to ask nicely for passage to Dalaran. At least she had mail to deliver while at the Citadel. She wasn’t _completely_ useless.

The gnome fidgeted and bit her lip.

“Look, the Scourge aren’t gonna sacrifice you or whatever you’re thinking.”

The gnome’s cheeks flushed bright pink to match her hair. “That’s not it. I'm not scared! It’s just…” She swallowed. “What’s _she_ like?”

“Who?”

“ _Lady Proudmoore_.”

Roxie shrugged one shoulder. “She tips well.”

On all of Roxie’s previous visits, a ghoul or a rambling skeleton or sometimes a Death Knight met her upon arrival.

This time when the doors to the Citadel opened, the Lady Lich King herself greeted them.

She walked with a cane now, thanks to her last encounter with Deathwing, but everything about her still screamed ‘ _run’_ to Roxie's well-honed sense of self-preservation. Bone white hair swept back in silver pins; piercing blue eyes that glowed with a subtle, omnipresent power; mouth a thin, serious line framed by white scars; posture that demanded everybody take a knee; all this enveloped in a black fur cloak that rolled off her shoulders like storm clouds.

Roxie gave her a proper bow.

The gnome forgot her manners, or maybe never had any to begin with, because she gasped loudly at Jaina rather than greeting her.

“Oh my god!” blurted the gnome. “You’re so pretty with white hair! Do you remember me? It hasn’t been that long- just a couple of years!- but it feels like it’s been _so_ long and I…” She faltered. “I, uh…”

Roxie stared incredulously at the gnome.

“Oh! Of course I remember you,” said Jaina softly. “ _Kinndy Sparkshine_.”

The gnome actually bounced up and down. “By the Light! You _do_ remember!”

And Kinndy rushed forward, probably in an attempt to hug Jaina because Roxie was beginning to gather that this was the sort of thing Kinndy did. Instead she almost ran into Kel’Thuzad who appeared out of seemingly nowhere between her and Jaina. Kinndy probably didn’t recognize who he was but he radiated ill-will with such force that the gnome back-pedalled and cowered behind Roxie.

“She means no harm,” Jaina said. “Several years ago I invited her to be my apprentice. Alas, we lost touch.”

“Your apprentice?” said Kel’Thuzad, now appraising the gnome with the sort of curiosity Roxie had witnessed in sabercats discovering a fawn.

“Yes.” She clasped both hands on the head of her cane and smiled at Kinndy. “What brings you to Icecrown?”

“We’re on our way to Dalaran, Lady King. Might we beg of you a flying mount?”

“It’s an emergency,” Kinndy added breathlessly.

“Of course,” said Lady Proudmoore and gestured them in the direction of the eyrie. “What’s the emergency?”

Roxie suddenly felt chilled and it had nothing to do with the environment.

“I knew it!” Kinndy made a high-pitched noise and balled her hands into fists. “I knew you wouldn’t _knowingly_ abandon us! Oh, I was right! _You didn’t know!_ ”

“Ma’am, Theramore is under attack by the Horde,” Roxie supplied. “Has been for a couple days now. Rhonin Redhair sent us here to save us- well, he meant to send us to Dalaran but, y’know, portals.”

Brief surprise showed on Jaina’s face, quickly supplanted by bitter recognition. “ _Garrosh Hellscream._ ” She spoke his name in the tone that diplomatic folks used instead of openly swearing. “What does he think he’s doing? Here-” She swept one hand in a distracted pattern and a portal unfolded into existence. “This will see you to Krasus’ Landing. I will catch up with your later, Kinndy. It seems I have business in Kalimdor.”

Jaina turned in a swirl of black fur and hastened away.

Kinndy stared after her. “Hey Roxie?”

“Yeah, cupcake?”

“Did- did we just… start a war?”

“Come on. Get in the portal.”

* * *

The frostwyrm’s name was Caligion and he remembered almost nothing from his former life as an esteemed member of the Black Dragonflight. The current world feared him twice over as part of the Scourge and a scion of Deathwing, and he took unrepentant pleasure in scaring the hell out of people. Jaina optioned to ride him to Theramore.

They burst through the portal far enough out over the ocean that everyone in the city would have a chance to see them coming. Jaina wanted Garrosh Hellscream to dread her approach.

She saw the smoke first, rising in a black smudge over the green marshland. Then the ships, spread out on the water in a widening fan as they fled the harbour. Some were Horde, flying red sails, but they were heading away from the burning city. Was the invasion over?

Jaina urged Caligion lower, his tattered wings sweeping just above the masts of the ships. Those aboard saw them. When she looked down, no one welcomed her. The Horde soldiers on the decks snarled up at her; the Alliance turned away or simply stared.

Something was wrong. Arcane energy prickled in the air, raised the hair on the back of her neck, and stung her exposed skin. She couldn’t see the stone fortress- or any of Theramore’s taller buildings- through the smoke.

The rampant magic was too much for battle cast-off; something big had happened here. Jaina swallowed. Still she couldn’t see Theramore.

**Closer,** she urged Caligion.

Energy crackled around her, finding her fingertips, her hair, the hem of her sleeves. Her cloak billowed and twitched on the currents.

Caligion’s wingbeats sent the smoke eddying away in puffs and Jaina began to catch glimpses of the land: bedrock and masonry scorched black, no timber, nothing green left. Some shattered foundations remained, the buildings they once supported now blasted flat. Jaina couldn’t get her bearings. What she thought were cobblestones were the pulverized remnants of homes and shops.

**Land.**

The magic was visible now, in erratic purple arcs that sizzled across glassy sand. The air stank of smoke and lightning. For a moment, the vista reminded her of the crater gouged into the flank of the Alterac mountains by the destruction of old Dalaran, a brutal and unnatural tectonic event.

Caligion’s chilly claws steamed where he set his feet. Jaina remained astride his neck as he gently fanned his wings. The smoke around them began to dissipate and Jaina saw the truth that she already knew.

Theramore was gone.

The destruction was so complete that she couldn’t sense corpses or even _parts_ of corpses.

Jaina turned in her seat and estimated the number of ships. There weren’t nearly enough to account for Theramore’s whole population and Jaina clutched at the idea that Rhonin had opened other portals for Theramore’s citizens. Surely, if one or more of the Kirin Tor were involved they would have staged an evacuation.

Jaina cautiously dismounted. She could feel the heat in the earth through the soles of her boots. Slowly, she walked the perimeter of a smoldering hole where her former home had stood. Caligion followed silently behind her. The only landmark she recognized was the burning remnant of a single dock.

She walked along it as far as she could, doused the flames, and stood staring out at the empty ocean.

It was true Theramore and Orgrimmar had never existed in perfect neutrality. Jaina and the refugees that accompanied her had been unwelcome on Kalimdor from the start; the orcs had murdered her father, the former lord of Theramore, and harassed their outposts. Even after she and Warchief Thrall worked out a thin truce, there had still been skirmishes and squabbles and tension between the cities.

When Jaina set out for Northrend, she intended to keep _everyone_ safe by facing down a great evil before it could lay waste to Kalimdor. And Hellscream had fought beside her against that evil!

Jaina crouched, overcome with heartbreak.

For the first time, she wanted to throw the might of the Scourge at someone in retribution. She wanted to wring out Hellscream’s strength with the cruellest magic within her, wanted to find every willing hand that had done violence to this city and damn them to undead servitude. She wanted _justice_ , she wanted _vengeance_ , she wanted _blood._

Yet if she attacked Orgrimmar, she would be making a declaration of war. It would draw in the allies of Orgrimmar and the enemies of Icecrown until Jaina was crushed, and thousands of others would be swept up in the violence and dead alongside. And the terrible power of the Lich King would end up in the hands of someone else.

No, she couldn’t attack Hellscream.

Kinndy’s words echoed in her mind. _I knew you wouldn’t knowingly abandon us!_ Had Theramore’s citizens hoped she would come to their defense? How many of them died waiting for her?

She drew in a shuddering breath. There was nothing she could do now.

Rhonin was present during the battle. The Kirin Tor could have easily sent word to her. She would have responded instantly to such summons. Why had they not called on her for assistance?

Jaina sat on the charred dock, legs dangling over the water, and knew why.

The Kirin Tor would not ally themselves with her magic, regardless of the cost. Regardless of her former station as Theramore’s leader, or the fact her own brother now governed the city.

_Is Tandred alive?_

Panic shot through her.

Going to Orgrimmar would gain her nothing but animosity; going to Dalaran to demand answers she already had would only serve to antagonize the Kirin Tor. But she needed to know if Tandred survived and perhaps Rhonin would know.

She called Caligion to her and summoned another portal.

* * *

“I’m so stupid,” whispered Kinndy. She was face down on the tavern table, one hand around an untouched mug of cider, the other buried in her hair. “I should’ve just kept my stupid mouth shut.”

Roxie, playing cards with a dwarf to her left, didn’t say anything. 

“It’s okay, you can tell me I’m a dumb kid or whatever you’re thinking.”

“You’re a dumb kid.”

“And?”

“And…” Roxie grimaced at her hand. “Get _smarter._ ” She put down a card and the dwarf claimed their bounty: a pile of muskox jerky.

“Wow. Thanks for the tip,” came Kinndy’s muffled response.

“No problem.” Roxie turned to look at her. Since they arrived in Dalaran, all Kinndy did was follow Roxie around. If she knew anyone in the city, she was avoiding them.

The gnome raised her head halfway, eyes glassy with tears. “Do you think I blew it?”

“‘It’ being…?”

“I thought maybe Lady Proudmoore would honour the offer of apprenticeship.”

Roxie dealt another hand to the dwarf. “So, you’re worthy of that offer? You’re that good?”

Kinndy studied her mug. “I _was_. I guess. But she never- she didn’t bring me north from Theramore. So I thought…”

“Thought maybe she was off fighting a war? And got sucked into a role she didn’t want, that almost killed her, where nobody liked her? You’re right. I can’t see any reason why she wouldn’t want to bring a squishy little confection like you into it.”

Kinndy groaned. “I am so dumb.”

“You are so dumb.”

“Can you, like, _not_?”

“I didn’t make you tag along with me, cupcake. How does this mage apprenticeship thing work anyway?”

“If you show promise in regular classes, someone might choose to mentor you personally. That’s how you really get ahead.”

“Where’s your classes at?”

“Here. At the Violet Citadel. I went back and forth between Theramore and Dalaran.”

Roxie lost another six strips of jerky to the dwarf. “Why didn’t you go to Icecrown on your own? Dalaran’s basically next door.”

The gnome sighed. “I was scared.”

“She already chose you to be her apprentice. What’s to be scared of?”

“Are you kidding me? Everything! The _Scourge_ , maybe? Or- or- wild animals- the weather- magnataurs- _yikes!_ \- dragons- _the Horde_ \- and… I thought she was undead. I thought _I_ would have to be.” Kinndy shuddered.

“ _That’s_ ridiculous.”

“So you’re not afraid of anything, huh? You just go through life being super cool and fearless?”

“Are you kiddin’? I’m afraid of plenty. Fear is healthy. Fear’s how you stay alive.”

“If you were me- or, no, if you were Lady Jaina’s potential apprentice- what would you be afraid of?”

Roxie gave up on the card game when she lost again and turned around to face Kinndy.

“The winter. Dark all day, snowing all night, so cold it’ll freeze the surface of your eyes. If you can’t fly, you’ll be trapped in the Citadel for _months_.” Roxie shook herself.

“I’d hate to be tied to one place. Tied to one path. But most of all, I’d hate to be _hated._ There’s a lot of things to dislike about being a mail carrier but people generally _love_ you. People like being connected and the post lets them do that. Not everyone is a mage who can jump around the planet through portals. Sometimes I bring bad news to people but they still thank me for it. The Scourge? People _hate_ the Scourge.”

Kinndy tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “But I wouldn’t be Scourge. I’m alive. I’m not undead.”

“Doesn’t stop ‘em from hating Lady Proudmoore,” said Roxie and swiped the cider away from Kinndy’s indecisive fingers. “You’d be the Lady King’s apprentice an’ that makes you Scourge.”

There was a muted commotion near the front door- several people entering, followed by a number of people moving to peer out the tavern windows. Roxie, ever-vigilant, climbed up on the bench and squinted.

She reached down and tapped Kinndy’s shoulder. “Hey cupcake. Looks like you might not have to go too far to talk to the Lady King.”

Roxie had a single glimpse but that was all she needed. (Sometimes a corner-of-the-eye glimpse was all the warning you got before disaster.)

“What?”

Roxie pointed toward the door. “She’s here. Just walked by the tavern.”

“Are you sure? I thought she was going to Theramore...”

Roxie jumped down. “Come on.”

“But why would she-” Kinndy squeaked when Roxie grabbed her elbow and hauled her bodily out of the tavern.

The street outside was dotted with people paused in the middle of what they had been doing, some talking in whispers, some of them putting hands on their weapons.

“She’s headed for the Violet Citadel,” Kinndy hissed, and shook free of Roxie’s grip. Being small, it was easy for the gnome and the goblin to thread through the loose crowd. They were across the street from Jaina when she reached the stairs that climbed to the doors of the Violet Citadel.

“Okay, stop here.”

“But-”

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t throw yourself into the middle of this.”

The guards at the bottom of the stairway hesitantly crossed their pikes in front of Jaina. Roxie and Kinndy were too far away to hear what passed between them but when Jaina spoke, the guards let her pass.

“They’re afraid of her,” murmured Kinndy. Her shoulders sank and she slumped down to sit on the curb, head in her hands. “I don’t think I can do this. Lady Jaina was an inspiration to me. She was so smart and kind and- and a beacon of light and hope! And now…” She looked up. “...people are afraid of her.”

“Weren’t people afraid of her before? Mage like that? They shoulda been.”

“Well, _I_ wasn’t.” Even Kinndy’s pigtails drooped. “Let’s go back to the tavern. I’m going to get _so_ drunk.”

Roxie doubted the gnome had ever been drunk in her life and clicked her tongue in irritation. She remembered the moment when she realized how much she cared about being a postal worker, the moment when her restlessness and her courage and her way with people crystallized into a paid occupation.

“Lemme ask you a question, before you go waste your gold on something with a little umbrella in it.”

“‘Kay.”

“You wanna be something other than a mage? Like a priest or an engineer or a sausage maker or something?”

“No? Why?”

“Cuz that woman-” Roxie leaned over and pointed emphatically toward the Violet Citadel, “-is the greatest living sorceress _in the world_ and she didn’t look like she was gonna say ‘ _no_ ’ if you went after that apprenticeship.”

* * *

There were only two members of Dalaran’s ruling Council of Six in the Violet Citadel and both of them were visibly surprised by Jaina’s unannounced visit. Ansirem Runeweaver looked like he wanted to throw her off the side of the floating city but Modera greeted her.

“Lady Proudmoore.”

“Lady Modera.” She glanced between Modera and Runeweaver. “Rhonin hasn’t returned yet?”

Modera’s expression fell. “He gave his life to save as many as he could in Theramore’s final moments, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Oh Light…” Jaina had not known Rhonin well, but he had been a level-headed leader. And now he was dead in aid of Theramore. “I’m so sorry to hear. I didn’t know…”

Modera exchanged a look with Runeweaver. “What brings the Lich King to Dalaran?” Her voice was carefully neutral.

“I only wish to know- is my brother alive? Did Tandred escape?”

Modera nodded. “Vereesa reported that Rhonin saw him off shortly before the… end. He is unharmed and aboard a ship bound for Stormwind.”

Jaina let out a long breath. “Thank you, Lady Modera. Do you know what happened?”

“Hellscream procured a Mana Bomb.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “Rhonin did not know that the attack would turn into what it did, Jaina. He thought he had the situation in hand.”

The heat of anger and hurt ebbed away, leaving Jaina cold and shaky. “A Mana Bomb. This is… How will Dalaran respond to this? Hellscream killed one of the Council.”

Modera shifted, uncomfortable, and her attention again flicked to Runeweaver.

“Ban the Horde from our city,” Runeweaver spat. “They no longer deserve our hospitality!”

“We can’t make such a judgement in anger. This was the action of one man and his closest adherents. We’ll put it to a vote,” said Modera.

“Why give them that dignity? The don’t deserve it after this atrocity!”

“We’ll _put it to a vote._ ”

Jaina nodded to her. “Thank you both.” _I have my own decisions to make now._

She bowed and left them, hardly registering Runeweaver’s caustic murmuring or the looks she got from the two guards at the bottom of the stairs.

Jaina straightened her back and struck off for Krasus’ Landing where Caligion waited for her. She moved with grace and purpose but she felt the cost of every step and wished for her cane. All the strength of fury and fear had left her.

Suddenly there was someone by her side, reaching out to take Jaina’s hand.

“Hi!” said Kinndy brightly and Jaina smiled despite her aching bones.

“What a pleasure to see you again, Kinndy.”

“Is it? I mean, I wasn’t sure but, well, you were b-busy. Can I ask what happened?”

Jaina looked away. “Theramore is… gone. Obliterated. Rhonin is dead; Tandred survived thanks to his quick thinking.”

She looked down at Kinndy before the gnome could pull herself together and saw tears in her eyes.

“Rhonin’s quick thinking saved you too and I’m glad.”

Kinndy took a deep, shaky breath. “Lady Jaina, this might not be a good time but… would you still be willing to take me on as your apprentice?”

Jaina stopped. They were at the narrow path that led onto Krasus’ Landing, blocking traffic in two directions. Jaina pulled Kinndy aside, to a bench along the wall.

“Oh, what a question,” she sighed. “Kinndy, I would love to be your teacher. I truly would. But you need to think about what you’re asking.”

Kinndy nodded fervently, wide-eyed. “I have thought about it!”

Jaina clasped her hands together on her knees. “Kinndy, if you choose to be my apprentice the Kirin Tor will likely turn their back on you. If you change your mind I don’t know that you would be allowed back to Dalaran to continue your studies. Talk to your advisors and, if you can, speak with someone on the Council. Talk to your parents. I don’t want you to end up trapped in Icecrown and miserable, and I don’t want you to end up half trained with nowhere to go and no one to teach you.”

Kinndy looked down at her hands and frowned. “Okay. I will, I promise. Thank you for thinking of my future, Lady Jaina.”

“One more thing, Kinndy.”

“Sure!”

“Icecrown is not Dalaran. It is not Theramore.” Jaina stopped, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and sadness. “It’s cold, dark, and full of the undead. Your friends and family will not be there. I'm sure that you would make new friends because you’re _you_ , but you would be alone at first.” She watched Kinndy's face fall and continued. “ _My_ friends…” Jaina gestured helplessly. “...are Death Knights, giant insects, necromancers, and wayward adventurers.” 

‘Friends’ was stretching it. At some point, all of these people had either deceived her or attempted to kill her. Some of them had done both.

“King Anduin is still your friend though, right? He’s a priest of the Light.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t live in Icecrown.”

“And the adventurers- and other people!- come to the Citadel too, right?”

“Yes.”

“And they’re from all over Azeroth! People from the Alliance _and_ the Horde, just like Dalaran. Some of them just happen to be, you know, undead.”

Jaina wished she could see the world again the way that Kinndy saw it. There was a gulf between the person she had been in Theramore and the person she was now; she could see it plainly but Kinndy couldn’t. Not yet.

“And you’re their…” Kinndy paused. “You’re their King. Or their Queen? Their Lady?”

“Lady King is my preferred title.” Jaina felt bowed by the weight of her cloak.

“Isn’t that just a clunky way of saying Queen?”

“It’s a contraction of ‘Lady Proudmoore’ and ‘Lich King’. According to… experts… ‘Lich King’ is the specific epithet defining this power. Apparently the warlocks of the Burning Legion assumed the recipient of the power would be male and wrote the title into the magic itself.”

Kinndy sat back. “That’s dumb. And unnecessarily confusing. But anyway- my point is, you’re still a leader that people trust. And I still trust you. And I _will_ think about it but I’ve also kind of already made up my mind.”

Jaina sighed and ran a hand over her hair, tucking in a stray lock. It wasn’t trust that her _people_ showed her- it was involuntary obedience. “Talk to your parents. Have an audience with someone on the Council. _Really_ think about it, Kinndy. _Listen_ to what the Council has to say. And if you still want to come to Icecrown, then… I’ll send someone to escort you properly.”

“I will, Lady Proudmoore.”

Caligion lay down to let Jaina climb aboard his neck. She didn’t have the energy to vault up and she didn’t look back when they took off for the Citadel.

When they landed in Icecrown, Jaina retrieved her cane and went out to the courtyard where Anu’Shukhet had been sparring only hours before, too furious to rest. Her strength was all but gone and though she wanted to walk until she was too tired to be angry, her body wouldn’t let her.

The Nerubian was still there. She lay on her belly in the sun, claws folded, hind wings sprawled out, basking and watching the paladin from earlier clash with a draenei Death Knight.

“Your appear troubled.”

Anu’Shukhet rarely spoke with anyone. Most assumed she either couldn’t speak or didn’t understand Common.

Jaina leaned heavily on her cane. “The Warchief of the Horde destroyed the city I used to call home before I came to Icecrown.” 

Anu’Shukhet shifted a foreleg so that Jaina could lean against her and slide down gently to sit on the ground beside her. “He killed a man I respected, tens of the city’s defenders, and innocent civilians. He’s made an _entire population_ homeless!”

Anu’Shukhet made a low purring sound. It vibrated her chitin armour and trembled against Jaina’s elbow where it touched her foreleg.

“I am _so angry!_ And I can’t _do_ anything with that anger except _bury it_ because if I don’t, it will kill me and hundreds of others! One of Dalaran’s Council wants to revoke the city’s neutrality and expel the Horde, and I almost agree with him.” She drew her hands roughly through her hair, pulling out the pins. “ _Almost._ ”

“Bury your anger for your diplomatic reasons, yes,” Anu'Shukhet said. “But do not let it die. Anger is your respect for those lost. Anger says you valued their lives.”

Jaina mullled over her words for a moment.

Anu’Shukhet continued. “My people believe in vengeance for a wrong done to us. A life claimed for another lost. Sometimes _many_ lives. But sometimes we must wait, for an opportunity, for our targets to grow complacent. Bide your time and when the chance comes, rise to repay the loss.”

“That chance may never come,” said Jaina.

“Then grieve for them and remember them. Sometimes vengeance, however bloody, cannot assuage the loss of something truly precious.”

She swallowed hard. “No... it can’t.”

Across the courtyard, the paladin squared off against the dark-haired draenei woman. Their contest seemed amicable. After each round, they helped each other up, compared weapon techniques, and traded insults.

“If Hellscream’s aggression infects the entire Horde, those two will meet someday on the battlefield.” Jaina nodded to the sparring partners. Her tone was more bitter than she intended, but it was the truth.

Kinndy was somewhat correct- Icecrown was neutral ground. Horde and Alliance found opportunities to meet, make acquaintances, sometimes even friends. The Knights of the Ebon Blade came from every species beholden to the two factions and they worked together.

Anu’Shukhet turned her head to watch them for a moment.

“You and I met as enemies. It was our choice to form a truce, and a friendship, despite the voices of those with great influence.”

“You’re annoyingly positive today.”

“The sun is warm and I have bested all of my challengers today. But, my friend, when your former allies had forsaken you, you found new allies.” Anu’Shukhet clicked her mandibles in thought. “If their leaders push them in a direction they do not wish to go, they too will find new allies.” Her deep purr became a subsonic vibration. Jaina felt it in her bones, her teeth. “And if they do, that is your chance to rise, my friend.”

* * *

Kel’Thuzad settled in the chair and searched the top of the desk for his glasses. He had never needed glasses before, not even as his original, fallible human body aged into its sixth and seventh decade.

However, after Deathwing so rudely incinerated him, Kel’Thuzad resurrected himself in an excellent, magic-wrought body only to find objects near his face were blurry. It was a minor nuisance at first. He was more concerned that some aspect of the spellwork that composed his body had been cast awry. It was a tiny error considering the overall scope of the magic required to _reorganize_ a physical vessel and then bind his soul into it, but squinting at his books and notes quickly became bothersome.

Jaina procured the glasses for him. While she recovered from Deathwing’s assault, too weak to do more than wrap herself in blankets and read, she had worked out the exact curvature of the lenses necessary to correct his vision based on the mistake she found in the spellwork. A few weeks later, the postal goblin appeared with a parcel addressed to Kel’Thuzad.

He found the spectacles, adjusted them on the bridge of his nose, and leaned over the sprawl of texts, grimoires, notes, and sketches occupying his desk. 

Half of it was comparative anatomy; necromancy derived its basics from medicine and biology. One had to understand a form in order to emulate it or animate it with magic. Of course, once one was well-versed in the basics, one could start applying their knowledge in new and creative directions. (Or, as the Kirin Tor put it ‘breaking the rules’ and ‘sinning against nature’.)

_As if nature obeys its own rules._

His current physical form was a product of such research and innovation. 

Jaina had given him free access to the Helm of Domination for study. No one, save long-dead warlocks of the Burning Legion, fully understood the artifact or how it contained and bestowed the powers of the Lich King. And, more importantly to him, the Helm was Kel’Thuzad’s phylactery, the physical object that contained his soul. It was both the source of his immortality and his eternal servitude.

On the one hand, the Helm proved nigh indestructible so his immortality was well guaranteed.

On the other, his servitude was equally guaranteed.

So far he had learned enough from the Helm to alter the pattern of spells that governed his resurrection. He no longer needed a cadre of disciples to bring him back from the hazy limbo of lich-death; that change alone was a victory (and sure to perturb many). And this new form itself was a small victory, a cosmetic change, but the fact he _could_ change it was something. Minus the need for spectacles. He would have to fix that before he died again.

Fantastic as it was to confirm he could change his form, Kel’Thuzad wasn’t sure he liked appearing human. It made interacting with human-sized people and objects easier, but now it was difficult to intimidate them by sheer appearance. Still, this body was the most well-known shape to him- Kel’Thuzad had reanimated many, _many_ humans- and therefore the simplest to weave into the Helm.

He turned back to his research.

The other half of the material on the desk was a mix of orcish and demonic: scrolls, journals, and dictionaries. A lot of what he had collected were secondhand accounts and other people’s research. A good amount of that was probably worthless. His first task was weeding out the worthless from the useful.

Hours later, Kel’Thuzad got up and began shelving some of the items in the ‘worthless’ pile. He didn’t discard such things. There was information to be had even among incorrect accounts of unusual magic; information about the observer if not the incantation or ritual described. One never knew when such information might prove useful.

A knock at the door interrupted his concentration.

It was near the witching hour so whoever knocked was either undead or suffering from insomnia. Anyone who knew this laboratory was routinely Kel’Thuzad’s domain likely wouldn’t knock; either they were a comrade (Jaina, Nerubian couriers, a selection of the Scourge and Scourge-adjacent, the postal goblin) or they were looking for a fight (assorted adventurers).

Curious, Kel’Thuzad opened the door.

It was the night elf Death Knight, Soffriel Shadowborn.

Kel’Thuzad did not invite him in and returned to shelving information. “Soffriel,” he said. “Interesting name. _Quel’dorei_ , not _kaldorei_.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the elf. Kel’Thuzad heard his armour shift and turned to see Soffriel kneeling.

“Is this the name your parents gave you,” asked the lich in Darnassian, “or a name you gave yourself?”

Soffriel looked up. “My parents,” he replied quietly in the same language.

“Why are you kneeling in my doorway, Soffriel?”

“My lord, I wish to be your student in necromantic magic.” There were no native words for the concept of ‘necromancy’ in Darnassian; Soffriel spoke the word in accented Common.

_Hardly the first to ask._

“What recommends you for such study?” Kel’Thuzad set the papers aside and approached the Death Knight. Soffriel lowered his eyes.

“I- I have a background in magic. I am a good student. I am… not a very good Death Knight.”

“Yes. How you survived your training is a complete mystery to me.”

“I do not remember, my lord.” Soffriel remained kneeling, head bowed, hands in shaking fists upon his thighs.

“What kind of background in magic do you have?”

“I was a druid.”

“Ah.” Kel’Thuzad said nothing more for several seconds and waited. Soffriel looked up and accidentally met the lich’s gaze. He immediately turned his head but Kel’Thuzad reached down and caught his chin. “Look at me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why does a disciple of nature wish to learn something so _unnatural_?”

Soffriel closed his eyes for a moment. Were the elf not undead, Kel’Thuzad thought that he might be weeping. “I was a healer,” he whispered. “I soothed and mended my companions. I did not fight. I am not useful to the Scourge as a fighter but… what you did- I did not know that- that a necromancer can be a _healer_ to the undead! I could be useful that way.”

“And where are your companions now?”

“S-scattered. Dead. But one is upstairs. She aided Lady Proudmoore after Deathwing. Our King will know her, my lord.”

Kel’Thuzad let go of the elf’s chin. Soffriel resumed staring at his fists.

“So you were a druid, and now you’re a Death Knight, and yesterday you decided that you want to be a necromancer.” Kel’Thuzad turned away. “Soffriel, I have no use for a capricious student.”

“I was not made a Death Knight by choice!” Soffriel’s voice broke. “It is not something that anyone can undo. But I am free to choose this path, if you will teach me.”

Kel’Thuzad paused. Soffriel’s plea- it was certainly a plea, not a request- landed too close to the lich’s immortal damnation. _I am not free to choose._

Kel’Thuzad pushed the thought aside. Soffriel presented an interesting perspective. Jaina had shown some willingness to let others learn necromantic theory- for defensive purposes only, of course- but balked at every prospective student so far. What Soffriel was asking for was something more than theory, but framed in an unexpected manner.

“If you follow this path, Soffriel Shadowborn, you will be an abomination to your kind.”

The elf looked up and this time there was no emotion in his expression. “I already am.”

Kel’Thuzad smiled.


	3. Die With Your Boots On

Jaina wanted to create a proper library in Icecrown Citadel someday. She moved her collection from Theramore with some reluctance; there, her books were available to any who wished to borrow or study them. At Icecrown, the only safe place with enough space to house them (barely) was the basement laboratory, so now they lived on cramped shelves, sometimes three deep, beyond reach for most of Icecrown’s population.

In light of Theramore's destruction, Jaina was relieved that she had saved so much information from oblivion. That relief came with guilt that she had saved books, and not people.

_ What is done is done, _ she told herself, but the guilt persisted.

New titles began showing up among her collection soon after she made space for it. Kel’Thuzad never told anyone where he spirited most of his possessions off to when the Kirin Tor banished him from Dalaran, but wherever it was, he still had access to it. And he had a lot of books.

“I don’t recognize this.” Jaina tapped the brittle leather tome in front of her, pages packed with coloured paper flags bearing the lich’s looping scrawl. “Where did you get it?”

Across the desk, Kel'Thuzad steepled his fingers. “A goblin merchant. It’s the memoirs of some pompous human priest." He eyed her. "Probably stolen.”

Jaina considered whether or not the book’s dubious origin was a moral argument she needed to have, and decided it wasn't.

"Why did it interest you?"

"He recorded some unusual forms of magic in exceptional detail. Look at this."

Kel'Thuzad selected one of the flags and carefully opened the book.

Jaina leaned forward to study the page. On it was a partial arcane spellmap, a complex mandala of lines, arrows, and sigils. The map was incomplete, asymmetrical, and missing layers of inscription. It was readable with some effort.

And it was familiar.

“This looks like a fragment of the spellwork we transcribed from the Helm last month.”

“I thought so too.”

She flipped forward several pages but the next sections concerned orcish rituals and disparaging remarks about their hygiene.

"These logograms…" Jaina bit her lip. "These are outdated forms. Most of them haven't been in use for a hundred years. I think I recognize some of them from my history books though..."

Jaina turned to one of the sagging shelves. Despite their haphazard appearance, the books were neatly ordered by subject, then alphabetically by author.

"Wait, no," she paused. "It was one of yours, one that completed a trio."

"The green one?"

"The green one."

Jaina found the volume in question.

" _ ’Mechanics and Creatives, Vol. 3.’ _ Somewhere near the middle, I think.” She flipped through the pages. The table of logograms and their meanings was not integral to the chapter where it appeared, merely an offhand demonstration of magickal language.

“If you marked interesting pages when you find them…” Kel’Thuzad began and ran his finger down the bristle of paper flags in the memoir.

“I prefer my books less defaced and unkempt.” She turned the book to show him the table of symbols. “Here it is. Not all of the logograms are present but maybe enough to infer the meanings of the rest.”

For a while they worked in silence, each translating the modern sigils and what archaic symbols they could recognize from the fragmented spellmap. When each had finished, they compared their conclusions.

“It looks like a feedback loop,” Jaina mused.

Kel’Thuzad followed a section of linework with a pencil. "It's more complete than what we found in the Helm.”

“If we match this map against the Helm’s map, perhaps we could fill in some of the gaps in both spells.” Jaina felt a little thrill of excitement. “Assuming this was properly transcribed by the priest, of course.”

The priest was a priest after all; a mage’s arcane notation systems were as foreign to him as priest’s incantations were to Jaina.

“I’m inclined to believe it is. The fact that we can read this at all is evidence of that. If there are faults, I would blame our translations.”

Jaina followed another line with her fingertip. It described an energy channel and it made sense until she came to a break in the line, followed by a curlicue. The channel continued normally after the curlicue.

“What is this? Is it meaningful or just a doodle? It’s not in the table.”

Kel’Thuzad found his glasses in a pocket and scrutinized the linework. “That’s interesting. It’s a  _ quel’dorei  _ symbol for a bond point.”

Jaina studied the overall diagram. “What sort of bond point?”

“A passive reagent. An unusual place for one, though, in the middle of the map. Better to place it near the end.”

“Maybe not. It’s a feedback loop. If you cast the first part, including building the bond point, then the spell starts to passively collect energy from the environment while you finish casting. Once the spell is complete, the energy will follow the feedback loop on it’s own, collecting more and more at the passive bond point on each circulation.” Jaina paused. “Technically, you  _ could _ place it at the end and get the same result. The way the spell is written is… impatient.”

“I rather like it. The spell’s strength will amplify with each circulation, starting when the mage casts the bond point. The loop independently sustains itself and grows in power. Oh, this is a  _ very _ clever thing.”

“A very powerful thing.”

Kel’Thuzad straightened and a glint of crimson lit in the depths of his pupils. “A thing that deserves to be studied more closely.”

If there was a mage more willing than Kel’Thuzad to experiment with un-studied magic, Jaina hadn’t met them.

“With sensible restrictions,” she cautioned. “But first, why is this part of the Helm? Or something like it, at least.”

Kel’Thuzad paused.

Jaina raised an eyebrow. “You have a theory?”

“I- well. I’ve just now noticed this. Look here. This part- incomplete, yes, but it shares characteristics with certain spells used in the resurrection of Death Knights.”

“This doesn’t look like necromancy,” said Jaina. 

Necromancy was difficult to represent with existing arcane symbols because it described processes and produced results unlike other schools of magic. The spellmaps and alphabets associated with it were a polyglot of orcish characters, pictographs, adapted arcane language, warlock script, pieces of demonic, and even high elven runes. 

“Though that would explain why we’re seeing it in the Helm too.”

Kel’Thuzad tilted his head to one side. “It does and it doesn’t. I would guess the primary function of this spell is the passive feedback loop but this area and this one here could support over-mapping.”

Jaina felt ill.

Over-mapping was the part of Death Knight resurrection that suppressed the connection to a person’s innate magic and wove a new, rigid set of spells into their undead existence. It was akin to forcing someone to hold an unfamiliar physical weapon. Or perhaps more accurately, tying someone’s hand to the hilt of said weapon, then cutting off the other hand _._ The Death Knight would learn to use the magic, some better than others. The process was intrusive and brutal, crushing an intimate part of the person’s self, and thus it was the first obstacle to successful resurrection. A certain percentage of people- “ _acceptable attrition”_ Kel’Thuzad called it- didn’t survive the process, or went mad afterwards.

In theory, the scope and effect of over-mapping was extraordinary.

In practice, the result was a level of cruelty Jaina struggled to comprehend.

“The architecture is similar to the grafting plane where a Death Knight's new spell suite is attached,” Kel’Thuzad continued. “Perhaps the Helm contains a similar plane to attach its particular array of spells to the Lich King.”

Jaina considered. Rather than supplanting her arcane magic, the Lich King gave her a new suite of powers that slowly became integrated into her own.

“That's a decent theory. Before we test it, let’s see-”

Jaina broke off mid-thought.

Her connection to the Scourge was akin to an additional sense. Just as she might find a sight or smell alarming without immediately understanding why, she also felt ripples and fluctuations of attention throughout the Scourge.

"What is it?" asked Kel'Thuzad.

"There's a man at the eyrie."

Jaina watched the stranger through the eyeless sockets of a rambling skeleton. The man’s face looked younger than his close-cropped silver hair suggested and his robes were of unfamiliar cut and design. Over them, like an afterthought, he wore the gold and purple tabard of the Kirin Tor. Jaina didn’t recognize him.

His gryphon, clad in Dalaran livery, rustled her feathers and pulled at the reins. The man absently scratched under her chin and stood beside his mount, taking in his first close-up look at Icecrown Citadel. Jaina knew that from the air or ground the walls and spires seemed uniform and unbroken, but closer to it one began to pick out disguised ledges, walkways, balconies, windows and other openings in the buildings imposing mass.

A wasted, near-skeletal corpse approached man and gryphon.

"Stable her for you?" rasped the creature. The man hesitated. The Citadel's eyrie was flat and open, with undead gryphons and wyverns ranged around the rim. Recessed into the wall, overhung with solemn indigo banners, was a row of stalls built to accommodate all manner of animals.

He slowly handed the reins over to the waiting corpse. 

"Er,” he said, clearly unaccustomed to speaking with the undead in a cordial way. “Good afternoon. Could you tell me where I might find your Queen?"

The corpse pointed over his shoulder. The man turned and Jaina faced him from her skeletal host. For a moment, she simply watched him. He was unfamiliar, but he  _ felt  _ like a mage and a powerful one.

Then she lit the eye sockets of her host with pale blue flame and a breath of cold fog spilled out between its teeth.

"I am here," she said. "Whom do I address?"

He hesitated again.

"Hello," he said, and made a gesture of obeisance that fell somewhere between a curtsy and a bow. "I’m Khadgar."

_ Khadgar? Apprentice to Medivh, the Last Guardian? What is this man doing at my door? _

"Well met, Khadgar." Her voice rasped like the shifting of glacial ice. “Come. Let us have audience in a more traditional way.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “That would be pleasant.”

The glow dimmed from the skeleton’s eye sockets and Jaina turned it to lead him into the Citadel.

The undead ignored Khadgar for the most part. He, on the other hand, watched them first with distrust, then guarded curiosity, then open intrigue. He greeted the living people that crossed his path and by the time his skeletal guide led him to the long room where Jaina waited, he seemed in good spirits.

His eyes focused on her face and showed brief surprise _. _ Nothing more could be done about her scars; they were hers forever and the first thing people saw when they looked at her.

Jaina smiled.

"Welcome," she said. The glacial rasp faded from her voice.

"Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Lich King of Icecrown." Khadgar's warm hands enveloped hers in a friendly greeting. "Thank you for your ready hospitality."

“It's an honour to host you, Khadgar. What brings you to Icecrown?”

They sat and Khadgar leaned back with a sigh. 

“Politics, of course. I’ve been too long away from Azeroth.” He tried to keep his gaze from roving over the room. “So much has transpired in my absence. The Council of Six sent word to me of Rhonin’s passing and I came to pay my respects. Now I find Dalaran in turmoil, the Council divided by grief and anger, and-” he paused for effect, “-further agitated by a mageling with an unusual question.”

Jaina smiled a little. “Kinndy Sparkshine?”

“Yes,” said Khadgar. “The very person. The Council has asked me to speak with you about her.”

“They asked you?”

“I professed some curiosity about this place and they were happy to turn over discussion of Miss Sparkshine’s apprenticeship to me.”

“I imagine they were. The Kirin Tor have made it abundantly clear they want no contact with Icecrown. You're the first to visit.”

“To their detriment, I think.” He straightened his posture. “I’ve been away from Azeroth but I’m not ignorant of current affairs. The Kirin Tor should see what you’ve made here, Lady Proudmoore: order from chaos, progress from destruction, sanctuary from tyranny.”

_ Sanctuary. _

That was not a description Jaina would give Icecrown, with its history, its pitiless winters, and ominous architecture. Yet it fit, in Khadgar’s comparison, and Jaina set the idea aside for later examination.

“Miss Sparkshine asked the Council if it would be safe for her to study here with you.”

“Safe?”

“Yes. She feels the judgement of the Kirin Tor and I understand why. Walking through your Citadel, I saw the numbers of your subjects. I felt their willingness to harm and the strength of your control. This entire place is a show of force, however benevolent your intentions. I appreciate the nuance of it from the vantage of experience, but the appearance is terribly frightening to a young novice who’s known nothing but community, security, and familiar surroundings for most of her life. She’s scared.”

“She should be,” said Jaina.

Khadgar nodded. “If she wasn't, she would be foolish and I would advise her against coming here.”

“Kinndy isn’t foolish,” said Jaina. “She’s only inexperienced and bursting with optimism.”

“Quite true! I see much promise in her. I told the Council such and that then became part of the problem. If she studies with you, I believe she will excel just as you did in Dalaran. However-” He fidgeted. “-you are not alone here.”

Jaina raised an eyebrow. “I see. The Council is worried that Kinndy will learn a particular sort of magic I  _ didn't _ study in Dalaran.” Sudden anger heated her cheeks and she fought the urge to dig her nails into the wooden arm of her chair. “They have so little faith in me. Have they so little faith in Kinndy too?”

Khadgar crossed one leg over the other, uncomfortable. “Rumour has reached the Kirin Tor that you might allow Kel’Thuzad to teach his dark magic here. Is that true?”

Jaina held his gaze. “ _ I _ am already his student, Khadgar."

_ “ _ Out of necessity, I know. The Council isn't pleased but you're far different from a rank novice and I respect your reasoning. However, this rumour persists-"

"What else have you heard from the Dalaran rumour mill?"

Khadgar hesitated, then cleared his throat. "A lot of things. You know how it is."

"I do. What I may be willing to allow is the study of necromancy for the purpose of defending against it. I would personally- and closely- oversee any such lessons. That is the truth."

“What you propose is too risky, Lady Proudmoore. Theory leads to practice."

"All magic is dangerous in the wrong hands. The art of necromancy isn't going to vanish if the Kirin Tor leaves it unstudied. Most of the Horde species practice their own versions and some humans too. Refusing to understand it is short-sighted. What better arena than here, one with benevolent intentions and  _ experience _ ?"

Khadgar bit his lip. "I appreciate your intentions. But such thinking makes enemies, and friends of the wrong sort.”

Anu’Shukhet’s words from the previous week came to mind.  _ When your old allies had forsaken you, you found new allies. _

“I assume you mean Kel’Thuzad.”

“Yes.”

“And who else?”

Khadgar’s brows drew together.

“The Kirin Tor seem to have little interest in my alliance with the kingdom of Azjol’Nerub. They have little interest in my friendly affiliation with Thrall, or Highlord Saurfang, or the Knights of the Ebon Blade. They flat out don’t care about the truces and treaties Icecrown has with various native Northrend peoples, and they ignore my friendship with King Anduin.” Jaina made a fist and gave the arm of her chair a gentle thump. "Frankly, the Council is hung up on Kel'Thuzad because he is an embarrassment to them _. _ "

_ And so am I by association. _

Khadgar ran a hand over his hair. "They would rather forget the connection between themselves and the Lich King, of course. Surely you understand that?"

"I do." It galled her that the people she grew up admiring had turned their backs on her. "They-  _ you _ \- will banish Kinndy if she joins me here, won't you."

"Yes."

Several seconds of silence passed. “What were Kinndy's specific safety concerns? What is  _ she _ afraid of?”

“She had a list.” Khadgar began counting Kinndy’s concerns off on his fingers. “The winter, the undead, an alphabetical list of predatory animals, the lack of windows in the Citadel, unpredictable mail schedule, food… and she is desperately concerned that people will hate her for training with you. She’s afraid it will leave her isolated.”

"She's not afraid I'll coerce her into learning necromancy?"

“Miss Sparkshine trusts you, Lady Proudmoore. She spoke at length and volume of her esteem for you.”

_ After all I did to discourage her.  _ Jaina felt a pang of guilt. “I can promise solutions for all but the last of her fears.”

Khadgar’s expression softened. “Then that is what I’ll tell her, and the Council.”

"I appreciate you coming here," said Jaina. "To speak with me face-to-face about this matter. I have no enmity towards the Kirin Tor, nor any desire to break off contact with the Council. I do respect their position, even if I don’t agree with them.”

“There is one more thing,” said Khadgar. “The Council would rather you not know but I think you deserve to.” He rubbed his jaw, teeth bared slightly. “The Council moved to make me Archmage of the Kirin Tor.”

“Will you accept?” Jaina sat forward. Someone on the Council who was willing to visit Icecrown and consult with her sounded like progress.

“I already have,” he replied. “As I said, I have been too long away and I think it’s time that I rejoin Azeroth society. I mean no disrespect.”

“I see no disrespect,” said Jaina, confused. “You’re a fine choice. Do you have issue with their decision?”

“It was meant to be  _ you _ ,” he said. “You were Rhonin’s choice to lead the Council should harm befall him. His choice was made, of course, before...” He gestured at their surroundings.

Jaina took a moment to let his words sink in. “Some things make sense now.” Modera and Runeweaver’s uneasy glances and haste to usher her out of Dalaran, for one. “I never knew. Tell the Council not to worry. I have no designs on your post, Khadgar. The daily demands of one small kingdom are enough for me.”

He smiled a little. “The Council will be relieved to hear that.”

Jaina fiddled with a slight groove in the arm of her chair. “I’ve never taught anyone. I’ve never had an apprentice.” Jaina had studied with her peers but on equal terms, with similar struggles. An apprentice was a wholly different thing.

“Neither have I. I can arrange materials for you, if you have need.”

“I have my notes and texts from my time as an apprentice.”

“All right. If that isn’t enough, please send word. But for now,” Khadgar rose, “I should return to Dalaran and see to the fallout from Theramore.”

“Allow me to walk you out, Archmage.”

She saw him to the eyrie where his gryphon waited, eying its skeletal fellows with some curiosity.

“This has been an unexpected pleasure,” said Jaina. “I hope to see you again.”

“I hope so as well! Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Proudmoore.”

They shook hands again and Jaina watched as he mounted up, took off, then wheeled about to the south, towards Dalaran.

_ Sanctuary. _

* * *

“I can hear you out there.”

Soffriel slunk into the lab. Kel’Thuzad didn’t look up from his book.

“You summoned me, sir?”

He put the book aside and caught Soffriel’s gaze. This time, the Death Knight looked him in the eye, though Kel’Thuzad would hardly call his attention  _ unwavering _ , and he quickly lowered it when Kel’Thuzad stood and moved toward him. He motioned Soffriel to a low stool.

“Sit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Use my name. I no longer have a formal title.”

“Er,” said Soffriel.

Kel’Thuzad put his fingers against the Death Knight’s backplate and gave him a slight push. “Remove your armour.”

Soffriel hesitated.

“Working through armour is like stitching a wound in the dark. The end result may be adequate temporarily if the surgeon is skilled, but far from ideal. Remove your armour.”

Soffriel unbuckled backplate from cuirass and settled the pieces on the floor at his feet. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled off his thick black shirt.

Kel’Thuzad probed his spine, ribs, and shoulder blades with careful fingers. “Didn’t show you a pinch of mercy, did she.”

“Who?”

“Your lovely dance partner last week. Anu’Shukhet. She knows I’ll put you Ebon Blade lot back together when she’s finished with you so she plays more roughly than she will with the living. I find it to be a fine working relationship, but your opinion may differ.”

“My opinion certainly differs.”

“Now then. Tell me how you died.”

Soffriel tensed. “I don’t remember. Not the whole thing.”

“It makes a difference,” said Kel’Thuzad. “Wounds you took before you were raised and wounds you take afterwards inform the spellwork necessary to reanimate you. A killing blow says much.”

“I know I was running away.”

Kel’Thuzad could see that, both from the physical damage across his ribs and spine, and the thick, haphazard knots of spellwork that compensated for it.  _ What sorry excuse for a necromancer did this? _

“I was not fast enough.”

Kel’Thuzad plaited new spellwork into what already existed, streamlining the weaves and strengthening them.

“How did  _ you _ die?” Soffriel ventured.

“Which death? I’ve had several.”

“The mortal one.”

Kel’Thuzad chuckled. “My first King killed me, before he was my King. When he was still vital and righteous, and I was already condemned. With a hammer.”

Soffriel shuddered.

“And she was there, too.”

“She?”

“Jaina. Even after all she’d seen of my work, she wore such a look of horror in the moment when he struck me. I still remember that.”

Soffriel gripped his own arms as though chilled. “I want to like her.”

“Mm.”

“She frightens me, even though she is not my master. Nor ever was.”

“Sit up straight. Ah. That's difficult, is it? Dammit. This is sloppy work. I’d like to have words with whoever resurrected you...”

“He was a high elf, I think.”

“Point him out if you ever see him, and I’ll take him apart for spell components.”

Soffriel made a sound that might have been surprise or amusement or horror.

“The more I see of your reanimation, the more I think you survived your training and deployment by force of will.”

“I don’t remember-”

“You  _ do  _ remember,” hissed Kel’Thuzad, “but you would rather not.”

Soffriel flinched.

“You’re ill-suited to be a Death Knight,” Kel’Thuzad continued. “Whoever chose you chose poorly. You were too young. You were a healer. And you  _ fled _ . Someone who flees should not be resurrected as anything better than cannon fodder. Those who deserve to be Death Knights are the ones who stand in defiance until they can’t stand anymore and then they fight on their knees. Sylvanas Windrunner. Anub’Arak. Darion Mograine. But here you are.”

Soffriel opened his hands and roughly dragged one across his face.

“Understand this, Soffriel. You are too much concerned with what you  _ were _ and deny what you  _ are _ . A necromancer made you. Have some pride in that if you wish to be one.”

* * *

_ Sanctuary. _

Jaina stood just inside the doorway to the northeast courtyard and watched the same paladin and Death Knight from the previous week spar. They were both clad in ornate armour that advertised them as immensely capable adventurers. Each would find hire anywhere they looked but they tarried on for weeks at the Citadel.

She wondered if the tauren approved of Garrosh Hellscream and his actions. Did he know? How many of the Horde were ignorant of their Warchief’s aggression? How many would support him? And if so, how could she welcome them in Icecrown?

As much as the destruction of Theramore was a strike against the Alliance, it was personal for Jaina _.  _ If Hellscream had destroyed a night elven village, or a dwarven one, or a different human settlement, it would hurt less.

_ Of course I would be horrified but I wouldn't feel as though I failed them. _

What she told Khadgar was true- her small kingdom kept her busy. However, that had less to do with the Scourge now than it did the living transients and interlopers, and all of them knew that Icecrown was Jaina's domain. Jaina was not only the Lich King; she was also human, and a mage. All species associated humans with the Alliance and all had differing opinions on arcane magic.

The tauren threw his draenei opponent to the ground so hard she bounced on impact. Before his hammer could follow, she flipped out of the way and swatted him across the face with the flat of her runeblade. Pure light flared in the paladin’s hands, wreathed his head in healing radiance, and they kept on.

_ How do these two not take an injury personally? _ If Jaina chose to spar with another mage, there was an element of trust between them. Protections and shields could be ripped through and dismantled but a partner would stop short of physical damage. 

Did the two trust each other that much?  _ Why? _

Jaina heard footsteps behind her and felt the cold brush of Kel’Thuzad’s presence.

“I found a potential student."

"Aah. I thought you seemed cheerful. Who is it?”

“Soffriel Shadowborn. The Death Knight Anu'Shukhet trampled last week."

"What do you think of him?"

Kel'Thuzad curled his lip. "He's a mess. But he has an extraordinary will."

"What kind of mess?"

"He seems to think he's still a druid."

_ A druid murdered in his youth. _ Jaina thought of the over-mapping and what it would take away from someone still adjusting to their own power.

"That's… Hmm."

Kel'Thuzad clasped his hands behind his back and turned to watch the sparring partners.

"You should meet him."

"You like him."

"He's obedient."

"Hmm."

"You should meet him," the lich persisted.

"All right. Bring him to me this evening."

The Death Knight stopped a blow aimed for her chest. Her hooves dug furrows in the subsoil with the force of the collision and she dodged around the paladin's next attack, laughing.

"There's a... weird amount of trust between these two." Jaina made a subtle gesture toward the pair.

Kel'Thuzad watched them for a moment and snorted. "Kittens at play. Practising for the real thing."

She continued to watch the pair. They  _ were _ like kittens; sometimes they drew blood and grew angry, but in the end it wasn’t a real battle. The real battle would be somewhere in Pandaria, where Horde and Alliance vied for new allies, or in Ashenvale where they vied for resources, or so many other places in the world for so many reasons.

“Ah.” Jaina straightened her posture. “ _ Sanctuary. _ ”

“Sanctuary?”

“Icecrown,” she replied. “A war ended here. No one’s brought a new one.” 

_ I didn’t fly to Orgrimmar for Hellscream’s head because it would be an open declaration of war. Revoking Icecrown’s neutrality would also be choosing a side, but with less violence. There is too much recent history here. People fear the Scourge and with good reason- we are an army. More fearful still, an army that will gain soldiers as the enemy loses them. _

She turned away from the courtyard and leaned on her cane as a sharp pain ran up her shin. “If I revoked Icecrown’s neutrality, it would only bring more violence and tragedy. The world already has enough of that.” She glanced sideways at Kel’Thuzad. “But if I have the opportunity, I will wreak  _ such _ vengeance in the name of Theramore.”

Kel’Thuzad bared his teeth in an eager smile.

"I await your command, my King."

* * *

Jaina hadn’t specified a time or place to meet Soffriel, but Kel’Thuzad found her in a near empty room on the fourth floor of the Citadel. It was her first choice for her future library.

She turned away from imagining shelves and desks to greet the Death Knight and froze.

Soffriel Shadowborn was not alone. There was a woman by his side and Jaina stared, first taken by a thrill of wonder, chased by an echo of fear.

“Lady King Proudmoore,” said the woman and dipped in a shallow bow. “We are pleased to meet you.”

She was a night elf, all soft curves and grace, dressed in white and ivory that glowed against her indigo skin, crowned with sweeping white antlers and a beaded headdress. From the front of the headdress fell a leather fringe that hid all but the softest glow of her eyes. Jaina felt her throat tighten with dread.

“Well met,” Jaina breathed. “I know you, don’t I?” 

_ Those eyes. _

The fear flooded in.

Suddenly Jaina was back facing Deathwing, the flash of memory real and visceral. She remembered rough soggy wood beneath her as she collapsed, shivering, burning, drowning in her own blood as stranger’s hands steadied her, and this woman leaned over her and murmured gentle things. Her eyes lacked the bright light of other night elves, clouded like an overcast day. Distantly, she realized the woman was probably blind, yet somehow her gaze gripped Jaina as fiercely as Jaina held onto her own life.

She took a deep breath and wrestled her mind back to the present.

“Your memory honours me,” the woman continued. “It is a great pleasure to find you safe. I am Ysadéan.” She had a thick Darnassian accent and pronounced each Common word with delicate care.

The woman held out both of her hands to Jaina and she took them with a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you, Ysadéan. I grieved that I had no opportunity to thank you for your aid after Deathwing. I am in your debt.”

“There is no debt. You stood before the Aspect of Death, between his wrath and our oblivion. I gave what small help I could.”

Jaina bowed her head in thanks nonetheless. “It is most appreciated. What is it now that brings you to Icecrown?”

Ysadéan smiled. “Selfish curiosity, Lady King. I wished to thank you for your courage, and to see this place. But happily our journey has found a greater meaning for Soffriel.”

The Death Knight cleared his throat and squared his posture. “My King, with your blessing, I wish to study the art of necromancy with the lichlord. As he is your servant, I must have your permission foremost.”

Jaina saw Kel’Thuzad’s eyes narrow at the word ‘servant’.

“I know the gravity of what I ask,” Soffriel continued. “But I also know what it is to be lost in darkness and held in thrall. I do not wish that on any living soul. My purpose is- is- I will never harm the living. I only wish to mend those like myself. Those who are already undead.” He paused, then crossed his arms over his chest in a night elf salute and continued in a whisper. “I swear this, as one who was once a Druid of the Grove and a healer of the living. I swear it to Elune.”

Jaina watched him without answering immediately.

“I know nothing of your character, Soffriel. An oath- even one sworn to your goddess- is not testament enough to convince me.”

“I understand,” he whispered.

“A druid’s relationship with magic is far different from that of a necromancer. And,” she said more gently, “I know that the dark magic you now wield as a Death Knight is a forced association, not a natural one.”

“I am willing to try.”

He was just a youth. He might be a foot and a half taller than Jaina and half again her age in years, but he was a night elf and by their measure, he was barely more than a teenager. Jaina saw Ysadéan settle one hand against the small of his back.

“I’ll consider your request. This isn't a simple thing. Give me time to think on it, and to learn who you are.”

He bowed his head. “Yes, of course, Lady King. Thank you.”

“If I may,” said Kel’Thuzad, and Jaina didn't miss the flash of Ysadéan’s eyes behind her veil. “I’d like to give him a practical examination, to see the extent of his grasp on Death Knight magic.”

Soffriel’s attention went from Jaina, to Kel’Thuzad, and back to Jaina. 

“Go ahead.”

Kel’Thuzad beckoned the Death Knight out of the room and Jaina expected Ysadéan to follow but she remained.

“Come, sit with me.” Jaina moved to a bench along the wall and Ysadéan joined her. “I never thought I'd have the chance to thank anyone who came to my rescue that day. I remember very little.”

That was a lie. Jaina remembered too much.

“Thank you, Lady King. I am ashamed to admit that I did not expect you to survive your injuries. Humans are more resilient than I knew. But against such a foe...” Ysadéan shook her head gently, the leather fringe swaying across the bridge of her nose. “Your dark magic will not give you so easily to death.”

“A blessing and a curse.”

Ysadéan cocked her head. “Is that how you think of it?”

“More of a curse than a blessing. It's a selfish power and if it works to keep me alive, then it does so only to claim me for itself.”

Ysadéan was silent for a moment, delicate brows drawn together in thought.

“I was not at the Battle of Wyrmrest Temple by accident, Lady King. I am- was- determined to meet you. As I made my way toward this place, Deathwing came. That part is coincidence. Coming here now was not.”

“Why did you seek me?”

Ysadéan put her palms together like a human priest in prayer. “I am a Druid of the Antler. I do not expect that you know us. We live deep in the wild places and we do not often leave. But we are as you are- life and death in one.”

She touched the antlers on her headdress and, upon closer inspection, Jaina saw they were not ornamental but growing from pedicles mostly hidden in her hair.

“We grow, carry, and shed a crown of bone. Part of me grows and dies each year. Life and death in one, like you, not in conflict but in wholeness. You call what you are a curse but it is, to me, beauty.”

Jaina absorbed her words. What she said made a kind of sense but it was the sort of esoteric night elf sense that didn't seem readily applicable to humans.

“Your antlers are a natural part of you. What I carry is not and it might kill me one day if I'm not careful.”

Ysadéan went still. “Oh, Lady King. It  _ will  _ kill you. It is not a matter of  _ if  _ but of  _ when _ . You have more death in you now than when I found you in Deathwing’s wake. The balance has tipped. You will never shed your crown.”

A jolt of fear grabbed at Jaina’s throat. “What do you mean?”

Ysadéan seemed to struggle with her words for a moment. “What years you have yet lived- there is less than that left for you.”

It took Jaina a moment to parse her meaning and another to do the math. “The Lich King's power has almost certainly shortened my life, yes, but another fifteen or twenty years still leaves me a human lifespan.”

Ysadéan shook her head. “It is much less than that.”

Jaina opened her mouth to argue, and stopped herself. “How much less?”

Ysadéan reached out with one hand and brushed her shoulder, then moved upward to stroke Jaina’s hair.

“You have months, Lady King. Perhaps a year. When you are at peace with this-”

“Months?” said Jaina. “ _ Months? _ ”

“Perhaps a year.” Ysadéan tucked a bit of loose hair behind Jaina's ear. “You have such a strong will.”

“No,” said Jaina. “I’m injured and recovering, not dying.”

Ysadéan sat back from her. “Lady King, my kind are  _ prey. _ We know life and death like close friends. We walk between them. You are on the path of death. There is no crossroads ahead for you.”

Jaina sat in silence, watching Ysadéan’s face. There was something in her expression like eagerness, like excitement, and Jaina bristled inwardly.

“I don’t believe you."

“I do not expect you to.” Ysadéan lowered her hand from Jaina’s hair. “Doubt is hope. Hope is your mortal right.”

* * *

Kel'Thuzad entered the lab to find Jaina had arrived ahead of him. Only the lanterns near the desk were lit and she sat in the soft lamplight, an open book beneath one hand and a quill in the other. She was neither reading nor writing, simply sitting and gazing through a corner of the room, completely still.

“Jaina?”

Her gaze found him and focused. “Ysadéan says I’m dying.”

Kel’Thuzad hesitated, then he crossed the room and pulled a chair around the desk to sit beside her.

Her eyes widened. “Do you believe her?”

“I’m no healer.” 

She took a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “You know death though. You know death very well. Is she right?”

Everything about her was suddenly fragile and Kel'Thuzad hesitated.

“There’s decay in all living things. I thought what I saw in you was natural, amplified by the power you bear.”

She turned her face away. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I meant no deception.”

“Withholding information is deception.”

“Would you rather-”

Jaina turned on him. “ _ Yes!  _ Yes, I would rather. I would rather  _ you _ than a  _ stranger _ I knew for all of ten minutes.”

Kel’Thuzad looked down at her fingers splayed in anger across the pages of the book. “I wasn't sure.”

“Nevertheless-” she snapped.

They were both silent for a long time. One of the lanterns guttered and Kel’Thuzad got up to add more oil. He felt her watching him.

“How long have you suspected?”

“Months.”

“Since Deathwing?”

“...longer.”

He turned and she wore an expression he couldn’t read. 

“Tell me what you know.”

“The Lich King’s magic is using the living energy produced by your vital functions to perpetuate and grow. You’re slowly devouring yourself.”

She made a little gasp or gulp. “Telling me sooner would give me more time to prepare.”

“You still have time.”

“Ysadéan said months.” Jaina sat back in her chair, twirling the quill this way and that around her fingers. She gave a sharp, hollow bark of laughter. “ _ Months _ .”

“I beg to differ. I would guess more than a year, less than a decade.”

“Does it matter when it’s less than a proper lifetime? And what if I need to use my magic for more than simple tasks? Will it continue to eat away at me?”

“You’ll most likely speed up the process. What you did against Deathwing was probably the tipping point. There is only so much a living body can endure.”  _ You found the limit.  _ He felt her stagger as she faced Deathwing, felt undeath grab her before he looped his chains around her body and pulled it away, into himself.

Jaina contemplated him for a moment. “But it can endure an astonishing amount of punishment, can’t it?”

“Don’t tempt fate.”

“Fate’s already made thorough sport of me.”

“Fate never tires. When you’ve been chased up a tree, fate will throw rocks at you.”

“Some night elf wisdom?”

“Personal experience.”

“Was it literal?” She cocked her head, probably hoping for a ‘yes’ and a story.

“No.”

“Fine. Let’s pretend I’m dying.” She drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want to be able to choose a successor.”

Kel’Thuzad resumed his seat, leaned back, and folded his arms. “Choose?”

“We know the power needs to go somewhere upon the death of the previous Lich King. I’m beginning to think the transfer isn't completely random. I don’t think just anyone can wear the Helm. Arthas wanted it and I wanted something too. We were each  _ willing,  _ in our own way. There must be  _ something _ that governs the transaction...”

“So we continue to study the Helm.”

She bit her lip. "It’s a starting point. What else do we have?”

“Very little. At least we’d be looking for something specific within the Helm's spells. All I’ve achieved through poking around blindly is a new form that no one  _ respects _ .” He held up one hand and studied his decidedly unimpressive fingernails.  _ I miss the claws. _

A thought came to him and he sat up a little. “I have encountered another artifact as bespelled as the Helm: the Book of Medivh. Perhaps we could use-”

Jaina’s eyes widened. “The Book of Medivh? The Book was thought to be lost after  _ somebody _ sacked Dalaran.”

“Last I knew, it was in the Scholomance.”

“‘Last you knew’?”

“Five years ago.”

“Five  _ years _ ?”

“I’ve been preoccupied.”

Jaina whispered, “Did you  _ lose _ the Book of Medivh?”

“No! I certainly hope not.”

“Before we do anything else with the Helm, we’re going to find the Book. And I’ll return it to Dalaran."

“Oh, what are the Kirin Tor going to do with it? Lock it up and forbid everyone from reading it? Boring.”

“You’ve had it this long. Haven’t you memorized it by now?”

“Only the good parts.”

“At least the Kirin Tor will keep track of it. _Five years!_ ”

“You should keep it instead. Use it in our research.”

“That seems profoundly unsafe.”

“Giving it to the Kirin Tor seems profoundly foolish when you have such a lofty goal in mind.”

“No,” Jaina said, “the Book belongs in Dalaran.”

“The Kirin Tor will never let you see it again.”

“The Lich King was crafted to be a tool of the Burning Legion and the Book of Medivh is full of their demonic magic. What’s to say it won’t have some corrupting effect on me? Or speed the process of- of degeneration?”

“Your fears are-”

“My fears are well-justified! I may have had the strength to resist before but now…”

She fell silent.

Kel’Thuzad stood and arched his back in a stretch he didn’t need. “What about this succession business, then?”

“Well. We don’t know how, and… oh light, who do I pass it to?” She rubbed her eyes and rested her face in her hands.

“You would make a splendid lich. That’s always an option.”

“No it isn’t.” She raised her head, rubbed her eyes again, and took up the quill, though she only spun it around her fingers aimlessly. He watched her stare through the book in front of her.

“Jaina, you’re not going to solve this in one night.”

“I know.”

“You have time.”

“What if I don’t?” She sat motionless. “I don't want Azeroth to face someone else like Arthas. Even if we can't figure out how to transfer the power, let's at least learn as much as we can about how it works and save my successor the strife and pain I’ve endured. I’ll work until the very end if I can.”

“Remember what I said about fate?”

She only sighed.

Kel’Thuzad took a sheaf of discarded note paper from the corner of the desk and moved to light a fire in the small stove that heated the lab. It was well away from flammable substances and bespelled to filter smoke. Jaina had perfected the spells while she was still bedridden.  _ She  _ will _ work right til the end, _ he thought.  _ Jaina will fight on her knees. _

Kel’Thuzad pushed the thought away and concentrated on lighting the stove.

“...what’s it like? Undeath?”

Kel’Thuzad crouched and watched the paper blacken and curl. “I like it very much.”

“But why?”

“Conditional immortality aside, I’m comfortable. Never too cold, never too hot, never sick, rarely in pain, vastly improved physical stamina. I don’t age. I don’t scar.”

“Can’t taste, can’t smell.”

“A small price.”  _ Considering what else it cost. _

Jaina tapped her quill against the page in thought. “I like eating though.”

“So do I.”

“If you can’t taste, then why?”

“I like the sensation of biting into things.”

She snorted in amusement.

“You- your mind and memory- are still human. What will a life beyond the human span do to you, I wonder?”

“I'm willing to find out, if circumstances allow.”

She fell silent again and it stretched past a pause in conversation, became a deeper, personal silence. Kel’Thuzad did not intrude. He roamed the room, putting things to rights, waiting for his King to have need of him.

* * *

That night, Jaina dreamed of the Citadel. First in ruins, destroyed by time and the inexorable strength of the slowly flowing ice, then blasted to glass like Theramore, then taken apart piece by piece for resources elsewhere. Then intact but empty of life, a mausoleum untended and unloved.

And then she dreamed of herself in armour, not cold, nor hot, without pain or taste, and the scars on her cheeks were the only ones she would wear into eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's commented and faved this story :3 i'm still getting back into the swing of writing fanfic and i'm happy people are enjoying this story so far!


	4. All of Our Sins

#  All of Our Sins

A/N: Sorry this is a little late- it’s still the 15th in my time zone! Enjoy :3

Content notes: mentions of torture and vivisection; the grim parts of medical history

* * *

Jaina's first impression of Darrowmere Island was  _ damp.  _ A fine mist hung over everything, made the silhouettes of hills and distant trees blurry, and clung to her exposed skin. The air wasn't particularly cold but the fog sank an insistent and abiding chill into her.

Neither of her companions took any notice. The humidity glossed Soffriel's white hair with a soft radiance and highlighted the sharp planes of Kel'Thuzad's features. Jaina pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

High on the hill, up a muddy road, sat Caer Darrow. Hidden somewhere within was the entrance to the Scholomance.

Jaina balked at the climb.

“My apologies,” said Kel'Thuzad. “I haven't visited in some years.”

He opened another portal, and they exited before a set of iron gates. Kel'Thuzad produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the gate, and ushered them into a small, forlorn courtyard.

Beyond was another door that led into a twisting corridor. It was cool and quiet, set with black sconces without torches, and strewn with the detritus of abandonment.

“Well,” said Kel'Thuzad. He popped a little magelight into the palm of his hand for a better look. “This is depressing.”

“What is this place?” Soffriel whispered.

“It was a place of learning and innovation,” said Kel’Thuzad. “A singular school of forbidden knowledge.”

“A school of darkest magic and darker ambitions,” Jaina countered. “A training ground for the Cult of the Damned.”

Soffriel glanced back and forth between them. “Ah,” he said.

“‘Darkest magic and darker ambitions’,” Kel’Thuzad repeated. “I like that. Should’ve printed that on the pamphlets… Oh, just look at this. What a tragedy.”

He stood in the doorway of a huge dark room and tossed the magelight into the centre.

Jaina stopped short. “This used to be a library.”

Even though she knew what sort of information had probably been stored on these shelves, the sight of the ruined library pained her. Kel’Thuzad looked down at a collapsed bookcase, the shelves charred and contents reduced to brittle dust. He crouched and sifted through the scraps that had escaped complete combustion.

“What a waste.”

Soffriel stared around the room, then took a few steps away from them, knelt, and brushed ash off an intact volume.

Jaina joined him. “What have you found?”

“I’m not sure.”

He handed the book to Jaina. It was bound in red leather and locked. She turned it over in her hands, studying the spine and covers. 

“What is this?”

“It isn’t dangerous,” said Kel’Thuzad. He held out his hand. “It’s the lending register.”

“Bespelled against fire?”

“Our librarian dealt steep fines on overdue materials. More than one student tried to burn the evidence of their late return.” Kel’Thuzad unlocked the book and returned it to Jaina.

She grimaced. “I'm assuming the fines were not monetary.”

“The first tier was monetary. The second affected their grades. The third tier affected their… quality of life.”

They continued to explore the room. Kel’Thuzad moped over dust and ash. Jaina collected scraps of handwritten notes and sketches. She tucked them between the pages of the register. Soffriel never strayed more than a few metres from them.

He brought Jaina another intact book that turned out to be a full catalogue of works. Jaina skimmed the titles and authors.

She showed it to Kel’Thuzad. “I assume what we’re looking for was never in this library.”

“It wasn’t. This way.”

Soffriel walked at Jaina’s shoulder as Kel’Thuzad led them deeper into the labyrinth.

“What  _ are  _ we looking for, Lady Proudmoore?” Soffriel asked quietly.

“The fewer people who know, the safer. I’m not keeping this information from you to be obtuse, Soffriel.”

He nodded once.

The corridor opened into a wide room with doorways on each of the walls. Two were caved in. Kel’Thuzad headed for the intact door.

Whereas the library had been burned, the room Kel’Thuzad opened had been hit by a hurricane of violence. There were greasy shadows of ash on the walls and floor, the remains of people hit by lethal magic; shredded canvas in hacked wooden frames; smashed bone splinters; an axe stuck in the ceiling; and a tiny, broken pendant tacked to the wall surrounded by unreadable words painted in flaking blood.

“This is…” Jaina stood in the centre of the room and took in the last stand of the Scholomance.

Soffriel pulled a dagger from a frame with seven or eight various weapons stabbed through the canvas, weighed it on his fingers, and tucked it into his belt.

Kel’Thuzad said nothing and leveled a spell at the back wall. It shimmered, vanished, and revealed a small room. Jaina followed him inside. On the left wall was a single shelf that bore a neat line of books. On the facing wall hung a short sword between two banners. One she recognized as the heraldry of the Cult of the Damned; the other, she guessed, stood for the Scholomance. The sword was a mystery.

Jaina turned to the bookshelf and selected a volume at random. She flipped it open about halfway through and found a detailed drawing of a human forearm, dissected from elbow to palm. The skin had been pulled aside and pinned, then blood vessels, muscle, and tendons carefully separated out and labelled in a series of smaller illustrations on the facing page. She had watched Kel’Thuzad dissect a variety of animals during her necromantic studies.  _ One needs to be familiar with the body and its mechanics in order to perform a successful reanimation. _

She turned pages, impressed with both the expert dissection and the work of the artist.

Then she began to read the text.

_ Material presented minimal blood loss post amputation. Anecdotal evidence from battlefield observations proposes the removal of a limb using one swift cut with a sharp blade results in arterial constriction in the residual limb, preventing further bleeding. Preceded with testing. Applied repeated blunt force to remaining limb until separation occurred. Material presented heavy blood loss and expired three minutes post amputation. _

Jaina re-read the description.  _ Material  _ referred to a living person, a person tortured to death by a dispassionate observer. She knew what the Cult of the Damned was, had prepared herself for what they would find in the Scholomance, but the plain, brutish cruelty on the page struck her.

Of course she was horrified. But Jaina felt guilt alongside; she had met some of the Cultists, compromised with them, imprisoned most, and harboured Kel’Thuzad.

She turned the page. The texture was... off. She sniffed the paper and found it musty and organic. The illustrations, though detailed, were fading and the ink applied unevenly. Jaina wasn't an expert in printing and binding, but she did read a lot and she grew accustomed to the smell and feel of books. This book was old.

She flipped to the title page. There was a stamp on the inside of the cover, in blue ink.

_ Dalaran Library Special Collection. _

The book was published some fifty years before Jaina was born and donated twenty years before she arrived in Dalaran as a novice. Long before Kel’Thuzad started the Cult of the Damned.

“This is monstrous,” she murmured.

She could feel Kel’Thuzad and Soffriel watching her. Jaina tucked the book into the crook of her arm and took down another. The pages of this volume were stuffed with colourful paper flags.

Poisons. How they affected the human body, but also orcs, trolls, and tauren; all of the species that humans considered a threat, including their own kind. The human test subjects were prisoners, soldiers, the desperate, and the poor; those who could be commanded, compelled, bribed, or simply taken without notice. The others were prisoners of war and victims of the internment camps.

_ Dalaran Library Special Collection. _

Kel’Thuzad held out another book and Jaina shelved the two, taking the offered tome with reluctance.

It was heavy, well-bound, the title lettered in gold against high quality leather. Jaina steeled herself and opened it. There was the stamp:  _ Dalaran Library Special Collection. _

Silently, she flipped through chapter after chapter describing every way arcane magic could kill a person, or many people. She kept flipping until she came to what she knew must be in these pages.

How to construct and employ a Mana Bomb.

She read the history, the tests, and the effects.

“This is how you did your research.” Jaina turned to Kel’Thuzad. “Biology and medicine are far older fields of study than necromancy. You used this information-” she pointed to the book of poisons, “-to engineer the plague on Lordaeron.”

“It was of vital importance to our work, yes.”

She stared down at the instructions and diagrams for the Mana Bomb.

“The work of others gave us the basis for reanimation and reconstruction of a body after destruction and dismemberment. Of course we did some of our own research, but without the  _ Special Collection _ , we would never have achieved so much in so little time.”

“You and your cult used evil to do further evil.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way.”

“I know. You are who you are.” She shelved the book, overcome with fatigue. “If not you, then someone else would’ve answered the call of the Lich King. You’re hardly an aberration in human kind.”

“No light without darkness, etc, etc.”

Soffriel shifted, boots scuffling on the dirty floor. Jaina almost forgot he was there.

“Dark magic and darker intentions,” she said.

Jaina watched the lich pull down another book. He held it out and Jaina almost didn’t take it. Resigned to further horror and burdened with a feeling of duty to bear witness, she took it and immediately felt the lightning crackle of intense magic.

“This is the descent of a great man into madness and disgrace, written in his own hand.”

She held the Book of Medivh and felt the familiar tremor of tight-woven spells, immense power held in physical form. It didn’t resonate with her as the Helm did. There was no sense of familiarity, no call to shape its promise with her own hand.

She tucked it in the crook of her elbow.

“How many more of these books are from the Special Collection? I want to return them.”

“Oh dear. I can’t imagine the overdue fines.”

“I doubt they charge fines on books that no one is supposed to know about. ‘ _ Special Collection’. _ ” Jaina hissed. “How long were you digging through Dalaran’s secrets before they caught you?”

“Years before I was on the Council.”

Jaina wondered if her beloved teacher, Antonidas, read these books. Surely, he would be as horrified as she. “Not all of these are from Dalaran, are they?”

“Not all. Some are mine; what I managed to smuggle out of Dalaran before Antonidas relieved me of my title, my holdings, and my dignity.”

“How many of them contain awful things?”

“Another two. Well, three. It depends on your perspective.”

“Let’s say three.”

“Three, then. The rest are fiction.”

“Fiction?”

“I do read for pleasure, not just evil.”

Jaina studied his features. It took him some time before he learned to school his expressions after so long in a form incapable of expression but she couldn’t read him at present.

“You know, you could have been a great doctor.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Look at all you know. You  _ built  _ yourself a convincing human body.”

“Through a familiarity with the human body built on hundreds of years of other people’s knowledge, and years of my own study.”

“As I said,” Jaina repeated. She glanced over her shoulder at Soffriel standing in the doorway. He straightened his posture. “Come and help me. You can carry the fiction.”

* * *

Jaina’s nightmares took a night off and the next morning she felt stronger than she had in months. She carried her cane just in case, but had no trouble descending the stairs.

The mess hall was joyful chaos. Roxie Rocketsocks stood on a bench, mailbag in hand, calling names and distributing correspondence. Beside her sat Ysadéan, and across from her sat Soffriel, sandwiched between the draenei Death Knight and her tauren friend (?). The paladin was eating a bowl of stew with a piece of bread as his only utensil while the draenei talked. Or, to judge by her gestures, bragged. Ysadéan responded with animation and cheer. Soffriel looked like he wasn’t sure how he came to be there.

He noticed Jaina and his expression flip-flopped between eagerness and apprehension. He excused himself, receiving a cheerful back-slap from the other Death Knight.

“Good morning, Lady King.”

“Good morning, Soffriel."

The tauren paladin reached across the table for a letter, tore it open, and scanned the lines.

He gave a whoop of excitement. “Hey! Everyone! I’m an uncle!”

Several other adventurers congratulated him, loudly.

Soffriel watched, ears pricked toward the commotion. "Where does the goblin keep it all? The mail?”

“In a special bag,” said Jaina. “A postal workers’ carry-all. I find them fascinating! Tailors need special materials and training to construct them. Then they give the bag to a mage who's studied the necessary spells and they work with a high-level enchanter to properly apply the spells."

On one occasion, Jaina watched in amazement as Roxie pulled out letter after letter, parcels and packages, clothes for every imaginable climate, skins of water, bags of cheese, meat, bread, and fruit, a pile of maps, several worn books listing every dangerous animal and monster, poisonous plant, malicious tribe, cult, and family on Azeroth and Outland, an organ donor card, and then the tiny envelope she had been searching for, which she gave to a crying woman.

"And no one tries to steal them? They sound valuable."

"They are. But most of them are bespelled to operate only on the carrier's command, or one the carrier allows."

"Most?"

Jaina nodded to Roxie. "Some of them are also enchanted with defensive or actively offensive wards as well."

Soffriel watched Roxie for a moment. "Ah. Meaning her carry-all is probably laden with explosive spells."

“Almost certainly.”

Roxie hopped down from the table, zeroed in on Jaina, and gave a salute.

“For you, Lady King.” She handed Jaina three envelopes.

“Thank you, Roxie." She examined the letters. "Stormwind... That must be my brother. Hmm… Ironforge. I don't know anyone in Ironforge. And Wayward Landing, Jade Forest? Oh, it’s from Pandaria! Have you been there, Roxie?”

“Not if I can help it, Lady King. Contested territory means people are spending money on weapons and stuff, not tipping their mail carrier.”

“...you’re very subtle.”

“I try.”

Jaina tipped Roxie a handful of gold coins. “I have a favour to ask.”

Benevolent mail carrier or not, Roxie was a goblin and favours owed were a currency as tempting as gold.

“Whattaya need?”

“May I borrow your mail bag for a few hours?”

"What do you want it for?”

“I need to take some books to Dalaran but they’re more than I can carry by myself in a conventional way and I need them to be absolutely safe.”

Roxie paused. “Are any of them magical books liable to explode, become animate, or in any way damage the bag?”

“No. They’re all quite passive.”

“All right. Two hours.”

“Two hours.”

“Then we got a deal.” They shook hands. “I’m here for another week and a half. I’ll make myself easy to find when you’re ready to use it.”

“Thank you, Roxie."

Jaina opened the letter from Tandred first. He was safe, though shaken. He said nothing about her absence at Theramore's defense.

Then she opened the letter from Pandaria. Inside the plain envelope was another envelope- blue paper, with a golden seal.

"Oh! It's from Anduin."

_ Dear Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Lich King of Icecrown, and Personal Friend to His Majesty, Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance- _

_ At my Lord’s behest, I appeal to your benevolent nature in the spirit of cooperation. Our King is now occupied working to achieve an accord with communities amongst the Pandaren people. As he does so, naturally, his heart beats for the safety of all within the Alliance as the aggression of the Horde grows.  _

_ Troubling reports have reached him of Frostmane trolls assembling within striking distance of Ironforge. Our dwarven allies are embroiled in their own political struggles and a proportionate response from Ironforge may not be available. The Wildhammer and Bronzebeard clans fear that should they move their forces from Ironforge, the Dark Iron clan would usurp power in their absence. In a demonstration of good will, Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan of the Dark Iron Clan has pledged her personal Forgeguard to take arms against the encroaching trolls. Our King fears that this small patrol may not be enough to stymie their approach. _

_ The High King asks you to consider sending aid to the Queen-Regent to ensure the safety of Ironforge, and of all Dun Morogh. He asks the Queen-Regent to consider your assistance and for each to communicate their reply with all haste to the other. _

_ On behalf of High King Anduin Wrynn, _

_ His servant,  _

_ Thassarian of Lordaeron _

“My goodness, this man likes words.” Jaina re-read the letter. “Thaurissan: dwarf. Thassarian: human.” She tucked the letter back into its envelope and made a mental note to keep it for reference.

She opened the letter from Ironforge. It contained three lines.

_ Lady Jaina Proudmoore- _

_ I would value your assistance. _

_ -Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan _

Jaina held both letters.  _ Both lending support to the Queen-Regent and withholding it are acts of partisanship. _ Kinndy’s words returned to haunt her again:  _ I knew you wouldn’t knowingly abandon us!  _ The Queen-Regent had reached out for aid and awaited a response.

She turned to Soffriel. “Have you ever been to Ironforge?”

He shook his head. “No, Lady King.”

“Neither have I.”

Jaina folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope.  _ If trolls attacked a human city, and that city asked my help, would I be willing to aid them?  _ Of course. But if the opposite happened, would trolls even think to appeal to her for aid? Unlikely.  _ I am, without trying, still seen as a part of the Alliance. Even if they will not have me. _

Soffriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Lady King? May I have a moment?"

Jaina looked up from the letters.

"What is it, Soffriel?"

He reached down to a sheath inside his boot and pulled out a dagger. He handed it to her, hilt first. 

"I took this from the Scholomance, only because it is fine and well-balanced. But it has some enchantment on it that I don't understand. I thought you might."

Jaina studied the dagger for a moment. There was some spellwork there, woven into the hilt, dormant.

"You’re right.” She turned it this way and that, measuring the sense of magic within the weapon. “I want to examine this in a more controlled environment. When I return from Ironforge, come to the lab in the basement and we can look at it together." She returned the dagger to him.

Soffriel gave a shallow bow.

"Thank you, Lady King."

* * *

Jaina cast the portal at a comfortable distance from the gates of Ironforge. Regardless, she found herself and her companions the subject of immediate, aggressive attention.

"State your business in Dun Morogh!"

A hundred arrows targeted Jaina from every direction. She raised her hands.

"I am here at the request of your Queen-Regent. Tell her Lady Proudmoore of Icecrown stands ready to aid Ironforge.”

“Stay where you are! Drop your weapons!”

At her side, Kagra Strangleheart set her dangers down with loving care, and Martin Starkweather laid his sheathed runeblade before him. Anu’Shukhet dug the tips of her claws into the soil.

The dwarf in charge gestured to Jaina.

“And you! Drop your weapons!”

“I have nothing with me.”

“I demand-”

An auburn-haired dwarven woman appeared beside the guard and forced her to lower her crossbow. “What do you plan to do? The whole woman’s a weapon.”

Jaina saw a thick iron crown on the woman’s brow and bowed. “Queen-Regent.”

“Aye. Greetings, Lady Proudmoore. Welcome to Ironforge. I appreciate your punctuality.” She cast her gaze on Jaina’s companions. “Is this your army, then?”

“No, Queen-Regent. My army waits at Icecrown Citadel. I thought it best not to arrive with them.”

The Queen-Regent raised an eyebrow and studied Jaina’s companions. Each of them was a calculated choice: Kagra, an orc Death Knight, a representative of both the Horde and the undead; Starkweather, a human representative of the Alliance and the undead; and Anu’Shukhet, representative of her own kingdom, and Jaina’s ally. The Nerubian was also just itching for a fight so Jaina obliged her.

“I’ll grant your entourage my protection while we’re in Ironforge but we best make this quick.”

Jaina agreed. The Death Knights surrendered their weapons to wary guards.

“Perhaps that should be left outside the city.” The Queen-Regent indicated Aun’Shukhet.

“I will do so,” said Anu’Shukhet in perfect Common, “but it will not win you the favour of my kingdom.”

The dwarf’s eyes widened. “Apologies. I took ya for some kind of animate siege engine.”

“I accept your apology and shall take that as a compliment, Queen-Regent.”

It looked like every city guard in Ironforge suddenly had a shift near the great gates. Jaina and her attendants walked a gauntlet of dwarves with restless weapons.

At her side, Kagra Strangleheart looked uneasy for the first time since Jaina met her.

“If they take offense, I don’t think there’d be enough of me left for Kel’Thuzad’s dark mending to work with,” the orc whispered out the side of her mouth to Jaina.

The Queen-Regent didn’t take them far into the city. 

“This is my Forgeguard.”

The group of fifty or so dwarves all had grey skin and glowing orange eyes.  _ The Dark Iron Clan. _ One woman stepped forward, helmet under her arm. She had flame red hair and her lower lip and chin were tattooed with black ink.

“Our scouts have returned from Shimmer Ridge. There is an unnatural storm shrouding the area around Frostmane Hold. It proved too powerful for the scouts to pass through, but some managed to circle round through the mountains. They counted almost one hundred tents to the east of the Hold. Who knows how many more there may be hidden by the storm.”

The Queen-Regent clenched her fist. “How have the Frostmane amassed such an army right under our noses? We cannot make an approach with so little information. The trolls will surely ambush us.”

“A storm?” said Jaina.

The Forgeguard woman gave a curt nod. “Yes, ma’am. A monstrous blizzard. Too bitter even for the best of our mountaineers.”

“I will deal with the storm.”

The woman hesitated for a split second. “Then our scouts will be ready.”

The Queen-Regent gestured to her Forgeguard. “Prepare your blades. The trolls will be set to attack once their storm is sundered. We will have little time to scout and prepare a strategy once they have lost their protection.” She turned. “Lady Proudmoore, what do you need?”

“A guide,” she replied. “Show me the storm.”

* * *

The Forgeguard commander with the bright red hair accompanied Jaina to Shimmer Ridge.

“You can take my hat and jacket if you need them, ma’am.”

“I don’t feel the cold. But thank you for the offer.”

“Ah. Perks of being undead, I suppose.”

Jaina looked down at her. “I’m very much alive, commander.”

The woman stared and then gave Jaina a once over. “I… apologies, Lady Proudmoore. Should know better than listen to tavern rumours.”

“We all fall prey to gossip sometimes.”

She peered over the top of the ridge. There was a raging blizzard, just as the scouts reported, and nothing about it seemed natural.

The woman offered Jaina binoculars.

“I don’t need those either. But thank you.” She glanced down. “That’s a mage thing, not a Lich King thing. Be ready to signal your scouts.”

Though the storm itself was unnatural- air currents forced into patterns that chilled the atmosphere and whipped up howling gales- the magic behind it was rooted in nature. Jaina contemplated the wind and snow. The shape of the magic prickled on her bare skin as she raised her palms and concentrated.

The source was part of the natural world. A shaman? Or druid? No. This magic was bigger. This magic was  _ old _ . It was deep and sure, part of the world since the world began. It was primordial, it was-

_ Elemental. _

“There you are...”

A thing of wind and ice, it was bound by no oath or honour; it existed for itself.

But it could be bribed. It was old and it was vengeful. Jaina couldn’t guess what wrong had been done to the elemental but it willingly stole from the mortal world, and right now it was stealing life. Jaina felt the fresh corpses near the elemental, felt their blood melting the snow. The elemental seized the red slush in its winds, vicious and devouring.

“It’s an elemental. The trolls are feeding it blood sacrifices to control it.”

“Well that’s unpleasant.”

Jaina contemplated the corpses. She was loathe to raise the dead but she could puppet any corpse without a will of its own and let it rest in peace once she withdrew her will.

She stood up on the ridge and handed her cane to the Forgeguard commander. She raised one hand and let the wind run through her fingers for several minutes. 

Then she seized it. The elemental was instantly aware and her black cloak billowed behind her on the frigid wind as it set upon her with blood-fed hunger.

She let it howl for her, let it turn from the other offerings. She was warm, pulsing with life, and her blood resisted the cold. The elemental turned all its fury on her. The wind slashed and buffeted her, blew the pins from her hair, yanked at the edges of her clothes but Jaina was unmoved on the spine of the ridge. When the indirect attack didn’t faze her, she saw the elemental itself burst through the storm of its making and bear down on her.

“You might want to hold onto something,” she shouted.

Jaina let the thing come within metres of her before she opened her fist and reached out. Light sprung from her fingertips, sparked and connected, spun in arcs of flaming blue, and opened a ravenous, hollow void that grasped the deepest magic of the elemental with irresistible greed. For a breathless moment it defied her; then, with a jerk of her hand, Jaina ripped out the heart of the wind.

The storm collapsed with a thunderclap.

Jaina rubbed her palms together.

“Ooh, that tingles.”

The commander stared at her with something between terror and infatuation. “I’ll notify the scouts.”

“No need,” said Jaina. “The trolls have left me many scouts, right in the middle of their forces.”

“How…”

“The corpses of those they sacrificed to the elemental so that it would do their bidding. The trolls have no storm to shield them, and now they have nowhere to hide from my sight. Notify the Forgeguard and the Queen-Regent.”

The commander scrambled down the ridge and Jaina turned back toward the village. She slipped her sight into one of the hapless corpses. Frostmane Hold was in disarray. Elders argued; warriors formed up, weapons ready.

Jaina poured a bit more of her will into her chosen corpse. It sat up. It climbed to its feet. The elders turned as the corpse straightened up and turned in a slow circle, then returned to face them.

Its eyes lit with chilly blue.

“Cease your aggression.” Her voice rasped over a leaden tongue. “You will gain nothing but suffering if you continue.”

Someone lopped off the head of the corpse. Jaina chose a new vessel.

“I see you,” she said. 

The Queen-Regent settled a hand on Jaina’s shoulder. “What do you see?”

“There seem to be two groups of trolls- perhaps different clans. One blue-skinned, blue-haired-”

“That’d be the Frostmane. We’ve dealt with them since dwarves and gnomes settled Dun Morogh.”

“-the others are taller. Furred, I think, with patches of scales on them. I’ve never seen trolls like these. Their army has split into three: one part moves south, one north, and one straight toward us.”

“They’re going to flank our forces and push for Ironforge,” said the Forgeguard commander.

One of the Frostmane shamans warily approached the corpse Jaina possessed.

“Who speaks through the dead?”

“The Lich King of Icecrown.”

Another shaman joined the first and they whispered together.

One of the unknown trolls stepped forward- tall, richly dyed leather clothing and gold bangles on his wrists and ankles. He made a mocking bow. “You are far from home, Your Majesty. What do you care for miserable dwarves?”

“I do not recognize your people. Who are you? And what do you care for the Frostmane?”

The troll chuckled softly. “We care for all trolls, all clans. All the homes lost, all the lands taken! This place you call Dun Morogh once belonged to the Frostmane, and with our help, it will again.”

Jaina contemplated the troll’s words. “I see your armies, stranger. I see the many with you. Where did so many come from? Where is your home?”

The troll made a slashing motion with his hand. “Broken! Dying! As too many of our homes are!”

She saw the shamans behind him nod to each other.

“When Deathwing broke free, the island began to sink.”

The tall troll glared at the shamans. A childhood memory popped into her head; her father, growling about ships lost near an island to the south of Kul Tiras.

“Zandalar Isle.” 

The troll raised his chin, eyes narrowed at Jaina’s thrall. “You know of us, northern king?”

“I know your homeland.”

He stalked in a circle. “The dragon’s rebirth made us see beyond our land, to the suffering of all trolls. Now, we will face their enemies as  _ our  _ enemies. We are many, and we are  _ strong. _ ”

Jaina split her attention to the Forgeguard as they crested the ridge in a line of dark metal. From the Hold below they made a formidable wall. Unfortunately, it was a wall only one dwarf deep, though the trolls couldn’t yet see that.

The Queen-Regent turned to her commander and they consulted together for a moment.

“Lady Proudmoore, split your army to the north and south. Stall their flanking.”

“Give me a moment to summon them.”

Jaina withdrew her gaze from the troll corpse and closed her eyes. She cast a pair of portals and commanded a flood of Scourge through, into the snows of Dun Morogh. Amongst their ranks were undoubtedly the animate corpses of Drakkari trolls from Zul’Drak, and hapless others from Kalimdor.

“My Forgeguard will hold the middle.”

“Kagra, Martin.”

“Yes, Lady King?”

“Please support the Forgeguard.”

Anu’Shukhet shook herself, wings rustling. “I will take the middle as well. Your forces could use a siege engine.”

The dwarves dug in and prepared their weapons as the trolls galloped to meet them.

Jaina and the Queen-Regent were left alone on the crest of the ridge.

“Lady Proudmoore?”

“Yes?”

“Your nose is bleeding.”

“Ah.” Jaina pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her upper lip.

“Are you all right there, lass?”

Jaina held the cloth under her nose. “For the time being.”

* * *

The energy Jaina had at the beginning of the day was entirely drained. She leaned heavily on her cane and paused at the top of the stairs to the basement.  _ I need to have someone install a handrail here.  _ Instead, she kept one hand on the wall to steady herself as she slowly took each step.

By the time she reached the bottom- it was thirteen stairs,  _ only thirteen! _ \- she was shaking and she halted to compose herself.

The door to the laboratory was closed. Jaina weighed the physical cost of pushing it with her shoulder against the magical cost of pushing it with summoned force. She chose to shoulder it open.

The lanterns were out but the fire in her bespelled stove burned low.

She ignored both and settled into a chair. It was Kel’Thuzad’s favourite, so it was liberally sprinkled with cat hair and he had pulled a twenty gallon glass jar filled with preserved rats into position as a footstool.

For a moment, she folded both hands on the head of her cane, leaned her forehead on them, and took stock of her physical state. She ached in every bone, from the hinge of her jaw to the balls of her feet. Her throat was sore.

Sitting in the near dark was refreshing. By the time Soffriel arrived she was well enough to rise.

“Let’s see what you’ve found.”

He gave her the dagger. She held it on the palm of her open hand. Soffriel was right- it was very well-balanced.

“It’s a defensive ward, meant to protect the user.” She cocked her head. “Not an arcane enchantment- it feels like a paladin’s work, or a holy priest.” She closed her fingers around the hilt and turned the dagger this way and that.

“Perhaps it will only work for one such as they,” Soffriel suggested.

“You might be right.”

“Oh- look here, Lady Proudmoore. There’s a mark on the pommel.”

It was a smear of dirt or blood, firmly ingrained in what looked like a decorative whorl. When Jaina moved her thumb back and forth over it, she felt the tingle of dormant magic.

“You have a good eye for magic! Let’s clean it up.”

Jaina took the dagger to a work bench, found a dissecting probe, and worked the grime out of the design. Once she had rinsed it, the prickle of magic became a low hum against her hand.

“An arrow.” Jaina rubbed her thumb over the design, following the direction of the arrow. The magic responded with a slight crackle.

“Maybe- like this-” Soffriel drew a circle mid air.

Jaina described a quick circle with the tip of the dagger and suddenly her hand and forearm were armoured in a gauntlet of golden platemail.

“Fascinating!” She flexed her fingers and the gauntlet clinked like metal. She tapped it with her other hand. “It’s solid. Not  _ real _ but a solid illusion. Strong enough to survive a physical blow or two. Hmm. Magic will shatter it but still, that’s quite a useful tool.”

Then she gave the armour a closer inspection.

“This is… I commissioned a piece like this before I came to Northrend. The armour crafter was killed before she could finish it. But this looks just like what I ordered.”

“How can that be?”

Jaina took the dagger with her other hand and the illusion vanished. She made the circle again and instead of the gauntlet, a plain purple cloth wrap appeared on her forearm, of a design as the ones she wore when she arrived in Northrend.

“I only commissioned the one.” She raised her eyebrows at Soffriel. “It was for an aesthetic I never achieved. A battle mage with accents of golden armour.”

“How would an enchantment  _ know  _ that?”

Jaina drew a circle in the opposite direction and the ilusion vanished.

“I don’t know. Here. See what it does for you.”

Soffriel twirled the dagger and a vambrace of brilliant green leather appeared from palm to elbow. It had golden piping at the cuff, leaves embroidered with golden thread, and a white crescent moon inscribed on the forearm. Soffriel dropped the dagger as though it had bitten him and took a hasty step backwards.

“That’s- that’s-”

“That’s not a Death Knight’s armour,” said Jaina softly. She crouched to pick up the dagger. Pain flooded up her spine. Her muscles cramped. She gasped and fell to hands and knees.

“Lady Proudmoore! What happened?”

She took several deep breaths, then picked up the dagger. “Please, help me stand.”

Soffriel took her free hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Are you-”

“I’m fine.” She held out the dagger. “Do it again.”

He did and the leather vambrace appeared. “It… this was  _ mine. _ When I was only a novice. Even before I chose the path of the Grove.” He ran his other hand over the leather. “I was just child. I haven’t worn anything like this in years.”

They stared at each other.

“How does it know?” Soffriel whispered. “It knows what I wore- what I  _ was _ .”

“I as well. I hadn’t yet left Theramore when I designed that armour. I was a mage and nothing more.” Then she snapped her fingers. “I have an idea.”

**Kel’Thuzad? Come see this unusual magic dagger Soffriel found.**

The lich didn’t even reply; the words ‘ _ unusual magic’  _ brought him to the lab in a teleport.

“Here.” Jaina showed him how the use the dagger.

Kel’Thuzad cocked his head at the result. He wore a blue and gold bracer wrapped in chains. Jaina rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

“Now  _ that _ is interesting…”

“What am I looking at, exactly?”

“Watch.” Jaina demonstrated, then passed the dagger to Soffriel. “The armour I’m wearing is something I designed as a mage but never wore. Soffriel’s is druid gear he owned as a child. And yours is part of the costume you wore in your original lich form.”

Soffriel ran his fingers lightly over the crescent moon symbol. “I don’t understand.”

“At risk of sounding overly sentimental, it seems to project a preferred version of ourselves. Or a version we’re most comfortable with.” Kel’Thuzad narrowed his eyes at Soffriel. “You still think of yourself as a druid.” He held out his hand and Soffriel reluctantly passed the dagger to him.

“That does make sense. It doesn’t explain how the magic knows or  _ why  _ but…”

“What use is this?” asked Soffriel.

Kel’Thuzad twirled the dagger between his fingers. “None that I can see.”

Jaina chewed her lip in thought. “While that’s an interesting question, I think I would like to learn more about the solid light illusion itself.”

“Oh?”

“Weightless armour, capable of withstanding physical attack?” Jaina’s back twinged. “Come on. That’s the stuff of dreams for every mage and priest.”

Kel’Thuzad looked down at his robes. “I did forget how troublesome it is to wear actual clothes. Armour is out of the question.” Then he smirked at Jaina. “Did you really design such a flashy piece of kit for yourself?”

“Says the man who wears rubies the size of my fist in his  _ preferred form. _ ” She shook her fist at him. “Soffriel, may I borrow the dagger for study now and then?”

“Please, keep it. I would rather not see what it shows me.”

“Very well. If you change your mind, it will be here, in the lab.”

“Thank you, Lady Proudmoore.”

* * *

Khadgar met Jaina at Krasus’ Landing. She hadn't sent advance notice but the Archmage was probably aware of her approach and seemed pleased to see her.

“Lady Jaina! Be welcome here.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” she returned.

“I heard you had an adventure in the mountains of Dun Morogh last week.”

“News travels fast.”

“Help me sort through the gossip.”

Jaina ticked things off on her fingers. “No, I did not summon a thousand undead from the depths of the earth. I brought them through a portal. Yes, the Queen-Regent and her Forgeguard successfully quelled the attack. No, she did not ride into battle on a winged black ram.”

“Awww, I liked that part.”

“Me too.”

He noticed the bag over her shoulder.

“Is that a postal carry-all?! How on Azeroth did you get one?”

“I owe a goblin a favour.”

Khadgar grimaced. “You live dangerously.”

“It can’t be helped.”

“It begs the question: what are you carrying in it?”

“Donations for the Dalaran Library's Special Collection. Or should I say, long overdue  _ returns. _ ”

Khadgar's face turned serious. “Let me escort you then.”

They walked together. Summer in Dalaran was full of colour and motion. Everywhere she looked there were bobbing lamps, groups of friends, adventurers toasting each other, flowerboxes, and music. The city was awhirl with festivity and life.

Jaina felt out of place wearing clothes in charcoal grey and desaturated lilac, trimmed with black fur instead of charming embroidery. The atmosphere was infectious though and she relaxed despite being self-conscious.

Khadgar bought two sticks of something deep-fried and rolled in a generous amount of sugar. He gave one to Jaina.

“Why don't they call it New Dalaran?” Jaina wondered. 

Old Dalaran, established in the Alterac Mountains, had grown up like any city. The point of initial settlement became the core, then broadened by necessity of population, commerce, and defense. Adjustments happened through fire, or changes of ownership, or the whims of politicians, compounding eccentricities until it became a unique organism.

After Arthas led his army to Dalaran and left only ruins, the Council of Six lifted the city from its ashes and the land where it grew up. The new, perpetually levitating Dalaran was planned and calculated. All of the buildings were the same age and style, all colours and materials matching.

As a student in the old Dalaran, Jaina had thought it perfect and beautiful. Now, with the slight weight of Roxie's carry-all on her shoulder and the much greater weight of what it held, new Dalaran looked as artificial and soulless as Icecrown Citadel.

“You know, I never thought of that.” Khadgar glanced up at the elegant towers. “Though the city will always be Dalaran, no matter where it is, this is different from the Dalaran I knew.”

Jaina watched a Worgen kid on all fours chase two friends around and around a fountain.

“There are certainly more people.” She pointed vaguely with her stick of unidentifiable but delicious food. “I’m glad Dalaran is neutral.”

“Mmm,” said Khadgar.

“I suppose you won’t discuss the Council’s ruling on that subject?”

“It’s ongoing,” he said. “What about Icecrown?”

Jaina was quiet for several steps, absorbing the life and colour.

“The people who come to Icecrown are different than the ones who come to Dalaran. It’s not  _ for  _ anything, you know? Dalaran is for mages, Orgrimmar is the Horde capital, Stormwind is the Alliance capital, all of the cities have a purpose. Darnassus, Ironforge, Thunder Bluff… they’re someone’s home.”

“Is Icecrown not your home?”

Jaina thought of her bedchamber, the laboratory, the mess hall, her plans for a library, the glacier that spread out from her doorstep, and the mountains that embraced the Citadel. She thought of the cold and the darkness.

“It is,” she said. “But it’s not  _ home _ to many. Those who visit have so many reasons I’ve stopped counting. Very few people  _ stay _ .”

“Most of Dalaran’s permanent population have something to do with magic. Their parents or children are here, or they teach and research. But I think some people who visit do so because it  _ is  _ neutral.”

Jaina thought that over. “I suppose there’s little reason to visit Icecrown except to escape the chaos of the world. Not a home but a place to rest.” She wondered if that was why the tauren paladin and the draenei Death Knight lingered.

Khadgar and Jaina reached the doors of Dalaran’s great library, and put the empty food sticks in a bin beside the desk of a watchful librarian.

Khadgar flicked his fingers and the grease and sugar on them disappeared. “My favourite kind of magic is the simple, everyday things,” he said with satisfaction.

“That’s a neat trick."

He led her upstairs, and then up again, through a door with a stern warning to unauthorized persons, and finally into a stuffy room wrapped in protection spells. At the back of that room, a door shimmered into existence at a gesture from Khadgar.

“That’s the same spell Kel’Thuzad used in the Scholomance for his special collection.”

“He stole a lot from the Kirin Tor.”

“That he did.”

The door shimmered again and sealed them in. The space was larger than that of the Scholomance and lacked the ominous heraldry, but it  _ felt  _ the same.

Jaina settled the mail bag on the table in the centre of the room. Khadgar stood across from her and visibly braced himself.

She didn’t speak as she pulled out each volume, flipping open their covers to show Khadgar the blue stamp, then closing it with care.

“These are, I assume, not well-known to Dalaran’s scholars.”

Khadgar nodded slowly. “They are not.” He ran a finger down the proliferation of paper flags tucked into the books. “Though they are clearly well-known to others.”

Jaina hesitated. “There’s one more.”

She set the Book of Medivh in front of Khadgar.

He stared at it, expressionless for half a minute. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He placed his hand on it, thumbed the lower edge of the cover as though he would open it, but didn’t. The silence became awkward.

Khadgar looked up and met her gaze. “I loved him. To the very end.”

The end, when Khadgar was forced to kill his demon-possessed mentor for the sake of the world.

Jaina gave a tiny nod. “I understand.”

He tried to smile and failed. “I thought it was lost. Or destroyed.”

“I doubt it can be destroyed.”

He took a deep breath and withdrew his hand. “I suppose Kel’Thuzad tried to copy it.”

“Of course he did. He says it can’t be copied, not in its entirety.”

Khadgar nodded. “You can copy print, but not power.”

Jaina shelved the rest of the stack while Khadgar contemplated the Book of Medivh.

They walked in silence back toward Krasus’ Landing, though they took a long, winding route. Jaina enjoyed the vibrance of the city. Perhaps Icecrown could do with some kind of colourful celebration. Perhaps at the deepest dark of winter, when the moon, stars, and bending aurora were the only natural light.

The thought cheered her.

Two streets away from their destination, Jaina caught sight of Kinndy's bright pink hair. She was on the sidewalk ahead of them, in animated conversation with a dwarven woman in Kirin Tor novice robes, and a green-haired gnome in civilian garb. Jaina had a childish urge to duck behind Khadgar.

Too late. The green-haired gnome spotted them. Her attempt to subtly convey her observation to her friends was anything but, and three pairs of eyes fixed on Jaina and Khadgar.

For a brief moment, Jaina saw Kinndy hesitate. Then the other gnome squeezed her hand and Kinndy smiled brightly.

“Hi Lady Jaina and Archmage Khadgar! I didn't know you were friends!”

“Hello again, Miss Sparkshine,” said Khadgar. “And Eilidh Blackforge, is it?”

The dwarf blushed and reached out to shake his hand. The other gnome gently shouldered Kinndy toward Jaina.

“Um, Lady Jaina? Can I… can I talk to you for a second?”

“Of course.”

They stepped away from Khadgar and the two others.

“I wrote this this morning,” said Kinndy. She showed Jaina a small pink envelope with a gold wax heart sealing the flap. “But you're here so I guess it's fate.”

Jaina internally scowled at the thought of fate fixing its eye on Kinndy.

Kinndy straightened her posture and put one hand over her heart. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore, I, Kinndy Violet Sparkshine, wish to take you up on your offer of apprenticeship, if that offer is still… offered.” She swallowed. “Please.”


	5. High Hopes

Kinndy sat on a bench at the perimeter of Krasus' Landing and fidgeted. She had barely slept the night before; nerves and fear and excitement rolled around in her stomach like a bad meal.

Her advisors in the Kirin Tor were variously alarmed and disappointed by her interest in joining Lady Jaina in Icecrown. They sent her along to the Council immediately, proclaiming that they didn’t have the authority to make a decision about her potential for re-admission.

The Council debated for a full day. Kinndy lost the right to return to the Kirin Tor. She could return to Dalaran, but she would never study there again.

She laid awake every night for a  _ month _ arguing with herself. Despite what she told Jaina on the day Theramore fell, Kinndy hadn't decided what she was going to do right away. Ultimately, what Roxie the mail carrier said was right: Jaina was one of the most powerful living mages in the world. Studying under her was an opportunity too good to pass up, regardless of where she lived or what else she was besides a great mage. Kinndy would regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t go for it.

When she told her parents that she would accept Jaina’s offer, her mother burst into tears. Her father gave her a fancy writing kit and postage, and made her promise to write them every  _ week _ . Then her mother went out and bought her a jacket, hat, and mittens, fretting over the colour.

“You’re certainly not wearing  _ black _ ,” she declared. “You’re too cheerful for that. Do you like this lavender? You’ll give that gloomy place a spot of colour.”

The coat fit a little big but it made Kinndy feel like she was wearing a cozy blanket, which she liked immediately.

So here she was, waiting for her escort to Icecrown Citadel.

She didn’t have long to wait. Kinndy had seen Death Knights before; hollow-eyed, frowning people moving briskly through the city, ignoring everyone else.

This one, despite having the same gaunt look and forbidding black armour, waved to her as soon as his skeletal gryphon landed.

“Hello, Miss Sparkshine.” He had that weird, echo-y Death Knight voice but his tone was friendly. “Lady Jaina sent me to retrieve you. My name is Martin Starkweather.” He held out his hand and Kinndy gingerly shook his gloved fingertips.

“Um, it’s nice to meet you.”

She tried not to stare. The guy was human, but his eyes glowed pale blue and his skin was somewhere between yellow and grey, clinging to the planes and angles of his face. He cocked his head at her.

“Is that all you’re bringing?”

Kinndy tightened her grip on her two bags. “It’s, uh, it’s all I have. Just my books and things and some clothes.”

At this, Starkweather turned and pulled a small bundle from the saddlebag on his skeletal gryphon.

“A gift from the Lady King,” he said. “She thought you would need them.”

The bundle was a pair of goggles with padding around the edges.

“Gets cold flying up there. I don’t feel it but you will.”

“Oh. Yeah. Ha ha, I guess you wouldn’t. Uh. Thank you. Thanks.” Kinndy put them on.

Starkweather secured her bags, mounted, and helped her up into the saddle behind him.

“Hang on, Miss Sparkshine.”

Kinndy watched Dalaran shrink behind them. She tried to suppress a shudder and failed.

“Should’ve brought you a scarf too,” said Starkweather, evidently mistaking the shudder for a shiver. Kinndy consciously made minimal contact with his armoured back and hung on to the edges of his tassets.

The flight took a little over two hours. Kinndy twisted around as they began to descend but Dalaran had vanished to the south. Before her, Icecrown Citadel loomed like a tombstone.

An enormous frostwyrm circled above the highest tower and another one wrapped around a smaller turret. Maybe it was asleep.  _ Do they sleep? _ A lot of smaller things that Kinndy didn’t look too closely at scampered or glided around the building on the parapet walks, on the glacier beyond, on the bits of dark stone that protruded through the ice.

“I’ll show you to your room,” Starkweather said. “And then the Lady King will meet you.”

“Thank you.”

Kinndy’s ‘room’ was huge. It didn’t look like it was originally meant to be living quarters but whatever it had been was now converted into an apartment. Aside from the somber colour scheme, it was pretty nice. And it had a window, which she hadn’t expected. It was tall and narrow, fitting the overall shape of the building, but the thickness of the Citadel wall meant there was a Kinndy-sized window seat. She touched the glass; it had two panes. They were perfectly clear and gave Kinndy a view of… well, not very much. At least it let in light.

Jaina arrived promptly, leaning on her cane, bright and smiling. “Are you hungry?”

“Er,” said Kinndy, who had been too nervous to eat breakfast, “a little, yeah.”

“We’ll start with the mess hall, then.”

Everything in the Citadel was black or dark blue or slightly lighter blue and sometimes silver. There were scary-looking tapestries on the walls and the main decorative theme seemed to be giant spikes. Kinndy expected it to be colder but the temperature was pleasant.

Kinndy got a sandwich in the mess hall. The number and variety of people in the hall surprised her, especially given the early hour. About half of them looked like adventurers- people in elaborate armour, carrying weapons. The rest of them appeared to be civilians and that surprised her too.

“It’s summer,” said Jaina when Kinndy expressed curiosity about the number of people in the hall so early. “There is no true night, only twilight and then daylight again. It can change your sleeping patterns. You might find yourself awake longer than you intend.”

Kinndy remembered the frostwyrms. “Do undead thi- people sleep?”

“Sometimes. It’s healthy to let the mind rest, even for the undead.”

They moved on.

“There’s so many…  _ people _ in here,” said Kinndy as some kind of lanky undead thing loped past them up the hall. “I thought it would be more empty.”

“There aren’t many permanent residents, but between the Scourge and living visitors, the population is usually a little larger than Stormwind.”

“That’s a  _ lot _ .” Kinndy shuddered.

“That’s why we need to control them.”

_ By ‘we’, Lady Jaina means her _ , thought Kinndy. The enormity of her mentor’s role began to dawn on her.

Lady Jaina introduced her to several people- living and undead- and Kinndy attempted to greet them all with civility.

“People come and go,” said Jaina, “but if you’re looking to meet a partner for study or sparring, you should be able to find someone.”

“How?” Kinndy stared after a trio of Death Knights, followed by dutiful ghouls.

“We keep a census. The front door and the eyrie are the only ways in and someone is always monitoring them. There is a list of arrivals and departures, their specialties and intentions.”

“Aren’t there secret entrances? Side entrances?”

“There were. I had most of them sealed. There is also the entrance to Azjol’Nerub, but few people from the surface show interest in going down there and similarly, the Nerubians mostly aren’t keen on coming above ground. But it is monitored, by the Nerubians and by the Scourge.”

Kinndy’s skin crawled. “I thought that was just a rumour.”

Jaina stopped in front of a tall wooden door. Warm light spilled into the hallway from beneath it, not the cold blue light of the frostfire torches that lit most of the Citadel. “Not at all. The commander of the Nerubian Icecrown unit is a friend of mine. I would introduce you but she’s conducting some business among her people at the moment.”

“A  _ friend _ ?”

Jaina looked down at her. “Yes. A friend and a fierce ally.”

Kinndy thought about the rumours she had written off as fancy and exaggeration. How many of them were true, or even half true? Lady Jaina had tried to warn her.

“Is the Frozen Throne real?”

Jaina nodded. “It’s on the roof, up a very long stairway. Would you like to see it?”

While Kinndy pondered her answer, Jaina pushed the door open and Kinndy found herself looking at a sprawling arcane laboratory. 

“No, thank you,” she whispered. “This is… this is  _ wow _ .”

“This is where you will perform your practical studies.”

The lab had a vaulted ceiling- it had to be at least thirty feet high- with book-laden shelves climbing all the way up two of the walls. There was equipment that Kinndy recognized from the labs of mages who conducted advanced research; there were tools she couldn’t name, materials she had only heard about, and best of all, there was an impressive mosaic of carbon scoring, stains, corrosion, and candle wax in the middle of the floor. That meant the lab was  _ functioning _ . There was work being done here regularly.

“In  _ here _ ?” she said. “I mean, this looks like… your lab?”

Jaina nodded. “It’s shielded and reinforced. Every mage makes mistakes and it’s best to have them contained. Here, you can make all the mistakes you need to.”

Kinndy stared around her. “What if I make a really big mistake?”

“Failure is a poignant teacher.”

“I mean, what if I damage something in here?”

“That won’t be an issue. Let me show you. Hold this for a moment, please.” Jaina handed her cane to Kinndy, rolled up her sleeves, and gestured with both hands.

The magic that bloomed around Kinndy was so powerful she could taste it. It was like nothing she had ever seen: layers upon weaves upon arrays, slowly rotating strings of symbols, interlaced and intersecting. The spellcage made a dome around Kinndy and Jaina that took up the middle of the room, where the floor was damaged. The walls, the ceiling, the books, all the furniture, and the doorway were outside the shielding.

“Wow.” Kinndy gaped. She couldn’t hear any outside sounds. There was no draft from beneath the door or heat from the hanging lanterns. “This is crazy!”

Jaina moved her fingers and the spellcage deactivated. “Well, it has to hold… a lot of innovation and disappointment.  _ Every  _ mage makes mistakes or encounters unexpected results.”

Kinndy returned her cane. “That spell was  _ amazing! _ ”

“Thank you. It’s a composite spell with eight component patterns.”

“Eight? And you called it up just like that?!”

Jaina twitched her fingers and smiled. “Well, we worked an on/off switch into the outer pattern so that preparing the shields doesn’t take longer than the actual work.”

_ We _ , thought Kinndy.  _ Who is ‘we’? _

From behind her, someone said: “I had a thought-”

Kinndy jumped a foot in the air and screamed a little.

That voice had the same sepulchral harmonics of the Death Knights, but with an added sibilant rasp that raised the hair on Kinndy’s neck. Both Lady Jaina and the owner of the voice looked down at her.

“You  _ scared _ me,” said Kinndy defensively, one hand pressed to her chest.

“Good,” said the man. Kinndy recognized him- he had been with Jaina on the day Theramore fell.

Jaina folded both hands atop her cane. “Kinndy, this is my teacher and casting partner Kel’Thuzad. Kel’Thuzad, this is my apprentice Kinndy Sparkshine.”

Kinndy felt a little warning would have been nice. On the other hand, she had known he was at the Citadel, hadn’t she? That was not a rumour nor an exaggeration. Kel’Thuzad’s continued existence was an on-going perturbation to the Kirin Tor.

“Delighted.” He did sound delighted and Kinndy was quite certain that wasn’t good.

“Hi,” Kinndy squeaked.

Aside from his dizzying dark aura, Kel’Thuzad looked like a normal (albeit  _ undead _ ) human man and somehow Kinndy was disappointed. His robes were black and violet with some sinister designs on them, but he was blandly handsome, had shoulder-length silver hair, a tidy beard, and no apparent inhuman features. He reminded her of some of the older mages in Dalaran, then she remembered he had once been on the Council of Six.

“Uh, Lady Jaina? I heard  _ stuff _ in Dalaran,” Kinndy said hesitantly, edging closer to Jaina and away from Kel’Thuzad. “Mostly dumb stuff.  _ Obviously  _ not true stuff.”

“I’m sure you heard a lot in Dalaran.” Lady Jaina rolled her eyes.

“But you do practise necromancy.”

Jaina was still for a moment. “I am the Lich King.” Her expression was soft but her words were firm. “It’s more than a title. I had a suite of powers thrust upon me, magic that I had no training to understand or control. You know how dangerous it is for any mage to practise magic that they don’t understand. And I knew nothing of necromancy.”

“That makes sense.” Kinndy could grudgingly accept the wisdom in that. And it didn’t mean that Lady Jaina  _ enjoyed  _ being a necromancer.

“This all must be overwhelming for you right now. I don’t expect you to be comfortable immediately.”

“Yeah, it’s- it’s a lot,” said Kinndy. She tried to summon the giddy resolve she felt when she first declared her intentions to Jaina, or the rational argument that Jaina was a phenomenal mage who wanted to teach her.

Kinndy darted a look sideways at Kel’Thuzad. He was thumbing through a book, ignoring them. And Kinndy realized that this creature who appeared as a man was Jaina's  _ equal.  _ Well, more or less. Kinndy had to acknowledge that Kel’Thuzad was a talented mage. You didn't make it to the Council of Six if you sucked at magic.

Kinndy felt sick with nerves when she made her case before the Council, but here, in this casual setting, between two extraordinary mages- one benevolent, one considerably less so- the gravity of her choice finally settled in. This was a moment that history would remember; these people weren’t  _ footnotes _ . 

And Kinndy hadn’t stumbled here on accident; she had invited herself in.

* * *

Jaina didn’t teach her anything that afternoon. Distantly, Kinndy appreciated that her mentor understood how overwhelmed she was and how that wasn’t an ideal learning environment, but without Jaina as her focus, Kinndy didn’t know what to do with herself. She would have felt best hanging around Jaina in the lab- maybe reading, or possibly looking at (but not touching) the weird and fascinating things on the shelves- but she didn’t want to appear clingy.

Also Kel’Thuzad was in the lab too.

Kinndy excused herself to ‘look around’ and made for her new room, where she intended to hide. She could read there, review some notes, maybe journal a little, write a letter to her parents, decide where to store her clothes-

Instead, she crawled into bed and willed herself to sleep.

The following morning, Kinndy got up, did her morning routine, then sat on her bed and did nothing. Her anxiety from the day before was compounded with a new set of anxieties. It was enough to freeze her in place for nearly an hour.

Hunger finally drew her out. She made her way to the mess hall- getting only a little bit lost on the way- found some kind of stuffed pastry and an apple, and set off to find somewhere to eat and think.

This was her home now. The unfamiliarity would pass. She would become used to it and she would gain confidence.

But that was in the future and right now, Kinndy didn’t even know where to go to be alone. She knew all the good places in Dalaran to pout, cry, think, and study. The Citadel must have places like that too.

After a lot of wandering, she found herself on a set of stairs that curved up the outside of the building. There was no banister but Kinndy wasn’t afraid of heights. She sat on the edge and kicked her heels against the black stone, staring into the distance and munching her apple.

Icecrown didn’t even seem real. The colours were so stark: white ice, black rock. The only variation was in the sky and Kinndy had never seen such a huge sky. It felt silly to think; the sky was the sky no matter where she was in the world, and yet it wasn’t. 

There was the Theramore sky: calm bright blue, towering with clouds, fringed with mist in the morning, pink sunrise reflected on sparkling water. And the Dalaran sky: above and below, interrupted by mountains to the north and hazy lumpy hills to the south, cluttered with towers, and the constant flitting shapes of aerial comings and goings.

So the Icecrown sky  _ was  _ different. It was blocked by the Citadel behind her, but it unfolded in endless pale blue in every other direction. There were jagged hills or maybe distant mountains like black lace along the horizon. And that was all. It was empty and the huge emptiness of it was oppressive.

“May I join you?”

The voice was gentle and Kinndy managed not to jump.

A night elf woman stood several steps below her. She was dressed in white with a veil over her eyes and a single antler on her headdress.

“Sure,” said Kinndy.

The woman settled on the step below her and likewise dangled her legs over the edge.

“What a lovely day,” said the elf. She leaned back on her hands and turned her face up to the sky.

“It is! I didn’t expect it to be so nice here. I mean, I know it gets cold in the winter, but this is perfect weather.”

“Where are you from?”

“Dalaran.” After a beat, she added: “And Theramore. How about you?”

“From an old, quiet place. We call it Val’Sharah.”

“I’ve never heard of Val’Sharah. But I haven’t travelled very much. What are you doing in Icecrown?”

“I’m a tourist.”

“Really? I mean- I don’t mean that in a negative way, I just didn’t know people would come here to see-” She gestured- “- _ this.  _ There’s not very much to see. _ ” _

“True, but it has its charm. There is peace in the space here.”

Kinndy kicked her feet and contemplated the horizon. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s like… there’s nothing in the way. It is kinda peaceful.” She turned to look at the woman. “My name’s Kinndy. What’s yours?”

“I am Ysadéan.”

“What a pretty name! I love night elf names.” She caught sight of two long strips of fabric draped down the front of her gown. Each had a repeating pattern: a white full moon, a series of waning crescents, a black new moon, a series of waxing crescents, on and on in sequence. “Are you a druid?”

“I am.”

“I haven’t met very many druids. I met a tauren druid once- she accidentally wandered close to Theramore and the guards caught her. Lady Jaina gave her a meal and let her go back into the marsh. What kind of druid are you?”

“I am a Druid of the Antler.”

“That makes sense.”

“You’ve heard of my order?”

“No, but you’re wearing an antler.”

Ysadéan touched it gently. “Yes… Her sister always drops first. This one; she is stubborn.”

“Oh! You grow them! Cool. I didn’t know female deer could grow antlers.”

Ysadéan smiled again. “Some of us can. Why is it that you’re here, Kinndy?”

“I’m Lady Jaina’s apprentice. In magic. In arcane magic. Not in, y’know, her other stuff. Her other magic. I’m her arcane apprentice.”

“Ah, how exciting! You must be very powerful.”

“Well, I was. Or am, I guess. Relatively speaking, I was the most powerful student in Dalaran. But here it’s different. There’s Lady Jaina and her  _ casting partner _ , and a whole lot of adventurers who are professionals and have been practising magic longer than I’ve been alive so it’s a new experience. Humbling experience.”

“Humility is a good quality in a student. It is… wise to recognize that there are things one doesn’t know.”

“I try to think of it that way. Like, I’m never going to understand a druid’s magic. But you still use magic. Does that make sense?”

Ysadéan nodded. “Even among druids, each of us understands some magics better than others.”

“So what kind of magic does an Antler Druid do?”

“Among the  _ kal’dorei _ there is a song that tells of us. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, please!”

Ysadéan sat up, folded her legs beneath her, and steepled her fingers.

“ _ Druids of the Fang and Claw, Druids of the Talon-  _

_ hunters all, fierce and wild, the ones our defense rests on. _

_ Druids of the Balance, between the moon and sun, _

_ Weave together night and day, and remind us we are one. _

_ Druids of the Grove, as ancient as the land,  _

_ strong and kind, will mend their wounds so they may hunt again.  _

_ But we are of the Antler, of the hunted and the swift,  _

_ the colour of the moonlight, and silent as the mist. _

_ We dwell in deepest wilderness, guards of paradise, _

_ And though we flee, if brought to bay, fiercely we will fight.” _

Kinndy clapped enthusiastically. “That was wonderful!”

“You forgot a few lines.”

Kinndy screeched and almost lost her balance on the edge. Ysadéan grabbed her belt to steady her. Kel’Thuzad crouched down between them.

“ _ Children of the dead they are, fawns without a sire, _

_ In willful darkness still they wear their Father’s bright attire...” _

He cocked his head at Ysadéan.

“And there’s something about _bones-_ _wicked seeds in sacred ground-_ something about a _new moon? Rising again,_ _forbidden knowledge- exile_. That’s my favourite version. But you’re much older than I, _Malorne’adin,_ and if I can’t remember it, surely you can’t be expected to either.”

Ysadéan smiled. “The rhyme does lose nuance when spoken in Common.”

“Apparently it loses verses too.” He stood up. “Come, Kinndy. Jaina wants to meet with you.”

Kinndy jumped up to follow him, but turned to give Ysadéan an apologetic look and waved to her. “It was nice talking to you!”

“You as well, Kinndy.”

She caught up with Kel’Thuzad and glared at him. “That was rude.”

He waved a hand. “She already hates me.”

“What did you do to her?!”

“Directly? Nothing. Indirectly… Summoned a big ol’ demon lord that killed her patron god thousands of years ago.“

Kinndy gasped. “Archimonde! Oh... Her god was Malorne the stag. That makes sense now.”

“You know your history.”

“Yeah. I read your biography before I came here.”

He glanced down at her. “Biography?”

“It’s in the History section at the Dalaran Library, filed under Traitors.”

He laughed. “Wonderful. I’d love to read it.”

Kinndy frowned at the floor, then eyed him thoughtfully. “If you stop sneaking up on me, I’ll borrow it next time I’m there.”

“I’m not ‘sneaking up on you’. You lack situational awareness.”

“All right, so I won’t get it then.”

“That won’t improve your situational awareness. We’ll have to work on that.”

“ _ We?” _

He smiled. “Jaina has never taught an apprentice. I ran a  _ school _ .”

* * *

Jaina sat cross-legged on the floor in the lab when Kinndy and Kel’Thuzad arrived. There was a partially completed spell diagram drawn out in chalk before her, a stack of books at her side, a variety of writing implements, and a bag of rocks.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lady Jaina.”

“Please, it’s just Jaina from now on.”

“Okay.”

Jaina gestured to the diagram. “What do you think?”

Kinndy hesitated. Kel’Thuzad leaned down and stage-whispered, “I think it should be drawn in blood.”

“Ew! No!”

“Why not?”

Kinndy narrowed her eyes. “Because it’s some kind of compass spell and the iron in blood can influence the outcome.” She paused. “And you just said that to be creepy.”

“Good answer.”

“Barring the material used to describe it,” said Jaina, “what else can you tell about the spell?”

Kinndy stood beside Jaina. There was no ‘good morning class, let’s begin’, no ‘flip to chapter six’, or ‘let’s review the homework from last week’. Kinndy’s mind went blank.

“Um. Uh… Okay. It’s- it’s directional… It’s based on a wayfinding spell but there’s…” She pointed to the empty centre of a circle connected to the main, four-pointed diagram. “Something missing here. I don’t know what that is. And this part here is, um, is basic conjuration but- wait, is this some kind of portal?”

Jaina nodded. “It’s a Hearthstone spell.”

“Wow.” Kinndy understood the concept but had never seen the spellwork that went into creating a Hearthstone. Now the bag of small rocks made sense and she remembered Roxie’s description of portal magic- the need to describe  _ specifically _ each end of the portal.

“Then that means one part of the spell anchors it to a permanent destination and the other part is like… mobile?”

“Both ends are mobile.” Kel’Thuzad knelt down on Kinndy’s other side. Once again she felt dizzy between the two mages. “The destination is always the same but it moves in accordance with the planet.”

“It does need some rather intense math during its construction though....”

Kinndy swallowed a whimper. “I’m  _ terrible _ at math.”

“I remember you had some trouble with Conjuration?”

Kinndy looked down at the beautiful diagram. “It’s my worst subject.”

“We’ll leave it for now. But I want you to watch me finish this before we move on to other tasks.”

Jaina scooted over to the empty circle and flipped open a book. Kinndy followed. The page showed a table of numbers and after a few minutes (wherein Kinndy’s mind retreated to scream in a corner again), she realized the table charted distances. Beyond that, she had no idea what it was for.

Then Jaina began to narrate her actions. She used the table to chart the movement of a destination on Azeroth, building the predicted movement into the spell so that each time the Hearthstone was used, it automatically calculated where it was versus where the set destination was.

“Where does it Hearth to?”

“Here, at the Citadel. It’s for you. Travelling in the winter is unpleasant and I know you’ll want to visit your parents and friends in Dalaran regularly. I assume you have a Dalaran Hearthstone?”

“Uh... I did but I- I left it in Theramore.”

“We’ll make you one for Dalaran as well, then.”

Jaina continued to explain what she was doing and Kinndy followed her as she scooted and crawled around the design, editing pieces here, changing something there, consulting her books, and making calculations on scrap paper with so many numbers and unfamiliar formulas Kinndy couldn’t keep up.

“Just watching this gives me a headache,” said Kel’Thuzad.

“Can you actually get a headache?”

“Metaphorically.”

Jaina sat back and dusted the chalk off her hands. “There we go. Kinndy, would you do the honours?” She held out a porous white rock perfectly sized for Kinndy’s palm. “Right there,” she pointed.

Kinndy set the rock in place.

It seemed anti-climatic that Jaina sat cross-legged, with chalk smudges on her skirts, and activated the spell with just a tap of her finger. The lines of the diagram flared bright blue, brightened to white, and then lapsed back to chalk. The stone gave off a soft blue glow when Kinndy picked it up.

“It will get you through most magical shielding as well. If you’re in Dalaran and something goes wrong, I want you to be able to get through the Council’s defenses and return here safely.”

Kel’Thuzad offered a hand to Jaina and pulled her to her feet.

Jaina turned to Kinndy. “Now it’s your turn.”

Kinndy had no idea what to expect from her first day of apprenticeship but when Jaina put her through tests in every major arcane subject before lunch, she was ready to drop from exhaustion. She wasn’t about to let Jaina down, though.

“What are we doing this afternoon?”

“The afternoon is yours to do with as you wish.”

“Okay. Can I help you with anything?”

Kel’Thuzad tossed her a book and Kinndy scrambled to catch it. “Go study. And practise your perception.”

“And don’t forget to rest! Your mind is sharpest when it’s well-rested. You’ll want to be sharp for tomorrow; we’re going to start basic battle magic.”

Kinndy couldn’t silence a squeal of excitement. “Really? Oh my gosh! I’ve always wanted to learn how to, like- make fire! And build shields! And use enchanted weapons! And- Battle magic is taught by  _ pairs  _ of-” She swallowed. “Oh no.”

Jaina chuckled. “Oh  _ yes _ . You will be  _ very  _ well-trained.”

Kinndy took a deep breath, let it out, and clutched the book to her chest. “Thank you very much for today’s lesson. I’m going to… go lie down.”

“You did really well, Kinndy.” Jaina smiled.

Her words and her smile returned some of Kinndy’s energy. This woman was  _ proud  _ of her. Tired or not, Kinndy skipped out of the lab.

* * *

It was evening in Dalaran and something wasn’t right. Khadgar felt it; it was subtle, but it was  _ wrong _ . He left the Violet Citadel and prowled the city, following his intuition. Up and down the cobblestones, greeting people he knew, he criss-crossed every street until the moon began to rise.

Then he found it: a modest house, no more or less interesting than any other on the street- timber frame, wooden shutters, an address in sparkly gold paint, the windows aglow with warm light. He paused and examined the feeling of  _ wrongness _ without using active magic; he suspected any spell might alert whatever he sensed.

Instead, he knocked politely at the front door. It was only in the instant between knocking and the door opening that Khadgar recognized where he was.

“Arch-mage Khadgar! Oh my goodness!” The gnome woman shifted from cheerfully flustered to utter terror. “Has something happened to Kinndy?!”

“No, no! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, ma’am. May I come in?”

“Oh! Yes! Of course, of course!”

Khadgar took two steps inside and found the source of that  _ wrongness _ seated cross-legged in the Sparkshine’s living room.

“Ah, Arch-mage! What an honour to meet you. My name is Kazimir Frostblood.”

“He’s an emissary from Lady Proudmoore-” said Mr. Sparkshine.

“Came to anchor a Hearthstone for Kinndy,” finished Mrs. Sparkshine.

“How very kind of you, Mr. Frostblood. May I have a word with you outside, if you’ve concluded your business here?”

“It would be my pleasure. Have a pleasant evening, Mr and Mrs Sparkshine. I will bring Kinndy your well wishes.”

Khadgar waited til the door was shut, then he grabbed the other man by the wrist and hauled him halfway down the road.

“How the  _ hell _ did you get here, Kel’Thuzad?”

The lich’s smile widened. “I wondered if you would find me.” He put his hands on his hips and cast his gaze around the peaceful street. “Lovely city. Very modern architecture.”

Khadgar pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _ How? _ ”

“Jaina made an Icecrown Hearthstone for Kinndy that included spellwork capable of breaching Dalaran’s passive shields. Miss Sparkshine needed a new Dalaran Hearthstone and Jaina is otherwise engaged, so I brought it here to anchor it at her parent’s house.” He reached out and straightened Khadgar’s collar. “Don’t worry Arch-mage, they think I’m some Scourge errand boy.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what other business do you have here?”

“Thought I might stop by the Violet Citadel, say ‘hi’ to some old friends. Maybe  _ make  _ a few new ones, if you take my meaning.”

Khadgar folded his arms and looked Kel’Thuzad up and down. “I can take you.”

The lich laughed. “Maybe on a good day, but it wouldn’t stick. Come on, show me around. Last time I was in Dalaran it was a bit worse for wear.”

“Please leave.”

“Why? I’m not harming anyone.”

“You’re not welcome here.”

“You’re the only one who seems to think so.”

“It’s only a matter of time before someone less patient finds you.”

“I fail to see why that would be a problem.”

“As satisfying it would be to disintegrate you, I don’t want innocent civilians caught in the crossfire.” He narrowed his eyes. “Such as Kinndy’s parents.”

Kel’Thuzad raised his eyebrows. “Did you just- did you just  _ threaten  _ those kind people?”

“ _ Leave. _ ”

“No.”

They locked eyes. “There’s nothing worse that  _ I _ can do to you than what you’ve already done to yourself.”

The stare turned serious. Kel’Thuzad’s magic sharpened and rose like the hackles on a growling dog.

“ _ You’re not welcome here. _ ”

The lich’s magic settled. “I never was. And you… I think you’ll find that you’re not welcome either.”


	6. Demons

Jaina woke with a gasp. She was freezing, shivering uncontrollably, but her eyes burned when she blinked and her tongue was hot against the roof of her mouth. 

She wasn’t in bed; she lay on a hard surface, hard and cold. She drew another shuddering breath. The ground was uneven and smooth in turns. The contradiction of sensations made her dizzy and dizziness was followed by overwhelming nausea. Jaina clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed.

_I blacked out_. Terror, animal fear as she clung to consciousness and felt her grip slowly loosen, thread by thread.

_My head hurts._ Beyond the fever, there was a sore spot in her hairline and she knew she was bleeding. The shivering continued and her skin burned with cold. She opened her eyes again. She could see one leg of some furniture; polished wood, chipped from use, and beside it a single sheet of note paper.

_I was working._ She’d pulled out the lending register from the Scholomance, gently shaken the charred, brittle papers that she had gathered up from the destroyed library onto the desk. She had been studying a drawing, a diagram of an unfamiliar spellmap.

_Did it curse me?_ She knew that wasn’t what happened even as she hung onto the thought, tried to get mad at some long-dead mage or necromancer or warlock who had punished her curiosity from beyond the grave.

No. It wasn’t the Scholomance papers. Jaina had pushed away fatigue and forced herself to concentrate on the fragile scraps. Pushed it back and back until her will couldn’t hold it and she had burst into wracking coughs. She remembered blood splattered on the burnt pages as the darkness closed in.

Jaina fought for another breath. 

She couldn’t move.

Panic crystallized in her veins and she stared, wide-eyed, at spots of wax on the stone floor of the lab. Her focus was inhumanly clear; she saw every bubble and dimple in the wax, the sloped edges where it adhered to the black stone floor, tiny bits of dust stuck to the surface.

And then darkness came for her again and Jaina managed to stretch out one hand, clawed at the floor, wax curling under her fingernails, struggling as her vision closed to a single spot of black stone, still brighter than the swallowing void.

“No!” She spat out the sound in more of a cough than a word. “Nnnn…”

She squeezed her eyes closed and it felt like the hardest thing she’d ever done. Then with even more effort she opened them again. The black at the edges of her vision greyed and wavered.

She forced a deep breath into her lungs, felt it swell her chest, ribs pressing against the stone. Another breath to drive light into the tunnel vision.

“Not here…”

She put all of her energy into pulling her elbow against her side and used it as a wedge to push herself onto her belly. More deep breaths, another burst of strength, and she got her knees under herself. Pause. Breathe. Heels of her hands shoved against the floor and she was up on her elbows.

Sweat mixed with blood and ran down her forehead.

Breathe, push- her balance failed and she fell against the side of the desk, catching herself with her shoulder. For several minutes, she sat with her back against it and calmed her breath. Then she twisted, grabbed the edge, and pulled herself up. Her legs shook under her but she rested her weight on her elbows, against the desktop.

There were books and papers under her clutching fingernails and forearms damp with sweat and blood.

_I’m making such a mess._

It took her some minutes but she levered herself up until she stood with only two fingers braced against the desk. She pitched herself toward her chair and fell into it, panting with effort.

“Okay,” she said. She ran her hands through her hair, blinked hard, and focused on the Scholomance papers. She had ripped some and crushed the dusty edges of others. It was a relief to see that although there was blood on almost everything, it hadn’t activated any hidden spells.

For a while she stared at the paper in front of her. It wasn’t the one she had been studying; that had been displaced by her collapse or her efforts to rise. There was nothing special about this one. It was just a drawing of a tauren skull, each bone labelled. There were no animation points, no grim description of its collection.

She turned to search for the paper she had been reading and hesitated. Her vision swam and she braced herself against the desk.

_No. I need to rest._ She tentatively touched the bump on her hairline. _And I need a healer._

**Kel’Thuzad.**

_What’s wrong?_

**I need a healer.** She paused. **Ysadéan is at the Frozen Throne.**

She concentrated on breathing, each breath as important as they had been in Deathwing’s wake, and closed her eyes.

Kel’Thuzad arrived with Ysadéan in tow and the druid made only professional conversation. Did she pass out? How long? Did she remember hitting her head? Where else did it hurt? And where besides that? And when was the last time she slept well? When and what had she eaten? Was she drinking more than coffee?

Jaina answered faithfully. She couldn’t hide pain or illness from a healer and finally she admitted that she didn’t want to hide it anymore.

“How long do I have left? Truly. How long?”

Kel’Thuzad and Ysadéan looked at each other. Ysadéan gestured for him to speak.

“I don’t have enough experience observing the course of a terminal illness to give you an accurate estimate. A year and a half. Maybe two.”

He nodded to Ysadéan.

Her voice was gentle. “A year, perhaps. If you fight as you have been, it will happen sooner. You stay awake too long. You push your body. Do not do these things and you will live longer.”

“You said my will-?”

“Yes! Your will is strong but that does not mean you must use it to _fight_. You are a smart woman. Use that strength to-” She paused, then looked to Kel’Thuzad and said something in Darnassian.

“Prioritize.”

“Yes. Use your strength to _prioritize_ your goals. Organize your mind. Focus your will. And-” She reached out and rested her hand on Jaina’s, “-do not hesitate to call on me.”

She looked like she wished to say more, but stayed silent.

“Thank you,” said Jaina.

“You never need to thank me, Lady Jaina.”

She rose, made a shallow bow, and left the room.

Jaina settled her cheek on the desktop and wrapped her arms over her head in a desperate self-hug. Her hair, loose and tangled with blood and sweat, made a curtain inside the hug and she concentrated on keeping her breathing even.

“Jaina.”

“I’m fi-” She swallowed the rest of the word. “I’m not fine.”

She rose and turned in the same clumsy motion, half-tripped on the chair and half-fell into Kel’Thuzad’s arms. He pulled her against his cold chest, and she clung to him with panicked strength.

“I am _not_ fine,” she said through chattering teeth. “I am not fine and I am so, _so_ scared.”

* * *

After months with Ysadéan as his only companion, Soffriel found the activity and noise of the Citadel both refreshing and a little overwhelming. Even his hazy, broken memories of Acherus weren't this busy or diverse. The people around him spoke in tongues he didn't recognize, wore exotic clothes and jewelry, ate strange food, and had incomprehensible body language.

Soffriel immersed himself in it. He sat in the mess hall for hours and watched people.

He looked for druids. Those he saw were mostly adventurers, grandly attired in armour meant to advertise their skill and experience. He didn't know what most of it meant but they were beautiful and their presence comforted him.

Some were young, in modest armour or none at all, and a few had a druid’s aura but made their livings in some other capacity.

His view was suddenly eclipsed by the draenei death knight who seemed to think they were friends.

“You look like you need a fight.” She grabbed his bicep. “Sparring time!”

Soffriel had learned it was easier not to argue with her. Or with the Sunwalker who materialized at the word _‘sparring’_.

“Don’t worry, the big bug is sitting this one out.” The tauren clapped him on the back.

“But there’s new blood! Couple of warriors who think they’re hot stuff-”

“-and a shaman with a pair of nice axes but no style-”

“-and three mages but we don’t care about mages.”

She flung the door to the northeastern courtyard open with a flourish.

“Behold! Fresh meat.” She rubbed her armoured hands together.

“That one’s mine!” The Sunwalker pointed to a fellow tauren in a half suit of plate mail, carrying a sword taller and wider than Soffriel himself. “You-” he gave Soffriel a shove, “-get the human.”

Said human was a burly warrior in fancy silver armour, eyes hidden beneath a half-helm that left only a frown and a blond beard visible. He carried himself with the sort of subtle confidence that came with experience.

“It’ll be my pleasure to knock you around, elf.” He gripped a pike with both hands and had a short sword sheathed at his side.

Carrying his runeblade was a habit ground into Soffriel during his training in Acherus and so far he hadn’t managed to undo it. He reached over his shoulder and drew the weapon.

“Very well.”

The human was fast. He feinted in and out, whirled the pike between his hands, bounced on the balls of his feet. Soffriel blocked his attacks and watched his footwork. Side to side, advance, retreat, side-step, turn, slide, lunge- 

The pike collided with the runeblade and the human twisted it, trying to force the sword from Soffriel’s grip. They wrestled for it and the warrior head-butted him with a laugh. Soffriel retreated.

“Are you afraid? Come at me!” He beckoned with both hands. “Come on, death knight! Show me what you’re made of!”

Soffriel ignored him and continued to react to his attacks. Eventually the human would lose interest and the match would end-

But somehow, in blocking his attack, Soffriel knocked the human off balance. He stumbled back.

_Weakness._

The hunter’s instinct, ever present, flared to life at the back of Soffriel’s mind. The weak, the young, the old- they were prey. _This one is prey._ Soffriel shook his head, focused on the solid hilt of the runeblade in his grip, the bright sunlight. This was not a real fight. The warrior was not a real threat and he certainly wasn't _prey._

The warrior quickly regained his footing and attacked again. They traded a flurry of strikes and counters, but now Soffriel had the measure of his strength and speed. The hunter circled, hungry, and watched for an opening.

They clashed again and Soffriel rebuffed the attack with ease. He was stronger than the human.

_I need to end this._

The human redoubled his efforts, pressed Soffriel until the inevitable happened and he made another mistake. The runeblade leaped forward almost of its own accord. Soffriel wrestled it back, swung wide, left himself open, but his opponent missed the opportunity.

Soffriel bared his teeth.

_Surrender, walk away._

He lunged and slammed his armoured fist into the human’s chest. The blow knocked the wind out of him, he staggered back, and almost fell. Soffriel struck again, faster, keener, focused on the pulse in his neck. He sensed bruised knuckles beneath the gauntlets, blood spreading beneath his skin.

_Blood_.

It was Soffriel’s fight now. What were once a hunter’s instincts had been sharpened and twisted into indiscriminate bloodlust by the Lich King’s magic. Soffriel advanced and advanced again. He didn’t need the runeblade. He had claws, and teeth- he could draw blood without saronite and steel.

The next blow broke the human’s nose. Blood smeared Soffriel’s fist. The runeblade was forgotten on the ground somewhere behind him and he saw the courtyard through a veil of red. The human was speaking but his voice was drowned out by the thud of his heart, the rush in his veins, the fear in his eyes. _Blood!_

Then something smashed into his back and Soffriel landed hard, face-first, in the dirt. The bloodlust only heightened and he rolled over, already rising, snarling.

The Sunwalker hit him again, this time in the chest, and when he staggered the tauren put a hoof on him and set his full weight against it. Soffriel’s armour creaked.

“It’s all or nothing with you, isn’t it? Down in seconds or scrapping like a rabid cat.” He shook his head. Soffriel squirmed and twisted under his hoof but despite the howling bloodlust, he couldn’t free himself. The tauren’s hammer glowed and Soffriel distantly understood that he had something more than physical weight pressing down on him.

Nevertheless, he writhed and fought until something inside of him gave way and all his movement weakened. The veil of red faltered but Soffriel didn’t stop snarling.

The Sunwalker took his hoof and his holy might off Soffriel’s chest, grabbed his collar, and pulled him up. He could stand- barely. All of his movements were weak, like trying to run through deep water. He went for the tauren’s throat anyway and was easily rebuffed.

“Up we go.” The tauren hitched Soffriel’s arm over his shoulders and mostly carried him out of the courtyard.

“You need to find a middle ground, my friend.” The draenei death knight had joined them. “Get your mind right before you murder someone who doesn’t deserve it.”

Soffriel recognized where they were; in the hall that led to the laboratory. The tauren booted the lab door open.

“Anybody home?”

Kel’Thuzad, seated behind the paper-strewn desk, looked up at them over his spectacles.

“Shouldn’t you two be here with twenty or so friends?” He narrowed his eyes. “And better gear?”

The Sunwalker and death knight glanced at each other. 

“Sorry for the intrusion!” The tauren gently deposited Soffriel on the floor and the pair beat a hasty retreat.

Soffriel managed to get on his feet, lips peeled back from his fangs in furious threat. He made a series of stumbling lunges until he reached the desk, in range to use his fists, his claws-

Kel’Thuzad gestured and Soffriel was abruptly lifted off the floor.

He hissed and made futile struggles. Kel’Thuzad watched, impassive.

“Soffriel.”

Soffriel growled and thrashed.

The invisible force that held him tightened until he could no longer move. “ _Soffriel_. I don’t bleed.”

He blinked and his lips quivered, then lowered over his fangs. His vision began to clear.

“I’ve wondered why you lied to me, the day you begged to be my apprentice. And I thought perhaps you had never seen a necromancer at work. But no.”

Kel’Thuzad let him go and Soffriel fell to his knees.

“I didn’t lie-”

“Yes, you did. You told me that you didn’t know a necromancer could heal the undead. But you know that you can heal yourself with the blood of the living.”

“No.” Soffriel stared at his hands. “It’s different… it’s different. You only used magic-”

“Stop. You knew it was possible.”

“It’s _different_ ! I _killed_ people-!”

“It is different only in materials, not in theory. Let that be your first lesson.” Kel’Thuzad held out a hand. “And now I know how you survived.” He pulled Soffriel to his feet with inhuman strength, and looked him up and down. “You need to stop letting people step on you. That hoofprint isn't going to buff out."

"Yes, sir."

The lich pointed to the same low stool where he had worked before on Soffriel’s injuries. “Sit down, armour off.”

Soffriel did as he was told.

Kel’Thuzad began searching through the shelves of equipment and materials along one wall. 

“If it’s this easy to break your back, you need more work than I gave you before. I thought Anu’Shukhet only severed the connective weaves but she may have done more serious damage.”

Soffriel touched his chest. His sternum and some of his ribs were caved into his chest cavity. It would be a fatal injury for a living person, if a healer couldn’t reach them in time. Even if they did it would take a healer of great skill to repair such terrible damage. He wouldn’t have been able to heal it or even save himself, novice that he had been.

He shook the thought from his mind.

“What does that mean? Connective weaves? What are they?”

Kel’Thuzad returned with a bowl of water, a packet of salt, and a small, black knife.

“An undead body is not so different from a living one in structure. But a living body takes in material from the environment and turns it to energy to sustain itself. An undead body doesn’t take in energy naturally; it must be maintained through other means. Without maintenance, the body begins to decay. Physical decay _and_ magical decay.”

He poured the salt into the bowl and stirred it with the knife.

“Water, salt, and iron- a poor imitation of blood, but workable in a pinch, or if one objects to procuring real blood.” He held up the knife; the edge was dull, the tip rounded. “I assume you would object.”

Soffriel nodded.

“Where was I? Ah, yes. Some types of undead creatures decay faster than others: ghouls and the like, those with only their physical form reanimated.” He returned to mixing the salt and water. “Cannon fodder, servants, and messengers. Why maintain them when new ones are easy to come by? Others are more complex reanimations; those with some shred of their former selves- with talents if not personalities. Our mages and lieutenants. We maintain the most useful and let the others wither.”

He pointed at Soffriel with the iron knife.

“And then there are those like you: a whole person, with some or all of their personality and skills intact, and some will of their own. Death knights are valuable soldiers and we maintain them. As for me, I _can_ pull material from the environment to maintain myself. It isn’t, shall we say, _natural_ because I must consciously do so, but it is possible.”

“Is that true of all liches?”

“No.”

Kel’Thuzad’s lips curved into a sharp smile that showed a glimpse of fangs. Soffriel felt a surge of affection- not for Kel'Thuzad but for someone else he couldn't remember who also smiled with his teeth.

“A death knight, or another undead of similar calibre, has a three-fold resurrection process: first, we build structural weaves, the spells that replace your deep muscle groups. Second, we build connective weaves- the spells that link the structural weaves to each other and to your will. Third- and this is the part that sets it apart as _resurrection_ rather than simple _reanimation_ \- we pull the person’s soul back into their body and anchor it.”

Soffriel furrowed his eyebrows. “So Anu’Shukhet broke a spell that… holds me together?”

“Yes, and it looks like she broke a structural weave as well.”

“But she doesn’t wield any magic. How can a physical attack affect these spells?”

“Look at you, asking all the right questions.”

Kel’Thuzad dipped the tip of the knife in the salt water then began to draw carefully across Soffriel's palm and down his forearm.

“Spells are finite. Magic decays. Enough trauma- physical or magical- will hasten decay or break the spell entirely. Anu’Shukhet, as you’ve discovered, is strong enough to do so.” He looked up. “She broke my arm a few months ago. Think about that next time you face her.”

“I… don’t think I’ll be facing her again.”

“Oh come on, she’s fun.”

“ _You_ spar with her?”

“Now and again. She’s a smart lady- she tests herself against unusual opponents, learns how they fight in case she should ever have to face their like in battle. In your case, it seems she severed the structural weaves between your vertebrae- she broke your back. However…” He let go of Soffriel’s arm and cocked his head. “One of the structural weaves in your spine was already damaged and poorly re-worked. And now that I look at you more closely, the structural weaves binding your collar bone to your shoulder blade and humerus are also torn… Hm. Someone broke your back before _and_ dislocated your shoulders, after you were resurrected.” He raised his eyebrows. “Care to tell me how that happened?”

“I… I don’t remember.”

Soffriel was certain Kel’Thuzad saw through the lie, but he didn’t pursue it.

“Well, I can guess at why they decided to fix you, bloodthirsty berserker that you are.”

He patted Soffriel’s knee.

“I’ll fix the structural weaves for now. We might see to the connective damage later.”

Soffriel watched him draw lines and sigils on his broken chest with the wet blade. “Is there a way you can- a way to remove the bloodlust?”

Kel’Thuzad shook his head. “It’s part of you now. You can only learn to control it.”

* * *

Kinndy showed up outside the lab at exactly sunrise. She carried a pink and gold staff and looked scared out of her mind, but gamely attempted to appear at ease.

Jaina smiled. She had probably looked the same at her first lesson in battle magic.

"I'm ready!" Kinndy swallowed. “I think. More or less. Yep. So ready!”

"That’s the spirit." Jaina gestured for her to follow. "While you're learning the basics, we'll use an open area. It's less intimidating to face an opponent at a distance."

“Okay,” she squeaked. “Thank you.”

She led Kinndy up the stairs, leaning heavily on the cane with every other step, and hoped Kinndy couldn’t see how pale she was.

"We don't want to make a spectacle of ourselves, either. Fortunately the Citadel has empty rooms large enough to accommodate our needs."

Her chosen theatre of mock battle was a wide, high room largely untouched by the siege that dethroned her predecessor. She had directed a crew of ghouls to fill it with random pieces of debris: broken glass and gravel, empty oil drums, a chunk of stone large enough to shield a mammoth, furniture, melting ice shards, random bits of armour, and a few decaying animal carcasses.

Kinndy wrinkled her nose and pointed at a half-scavenged snow bear. “Ew!”

“Battle means bodies. It’s a grim reality of this field of study.”

“That makes sense. Still _ew_.”

Kel’Thuzad materialized to Jaina’s left and leaned closer to Kinndy. “I can bring fresh ones next time.”

Kinndy half-swallowed a screech of alarm and brandished her staff. “Stop _doing that!_ ”

“I see we’ll have to work on your situational awareness,” said Jaina. “But today will be basics of engagement.” She looked around, found a small table that looked sturdy enough to support her, and sat. Kinndy had been too preoccupied with Kel’Thuzad to notice her shaky grip on the cane.

“All right. What do you know about battle magic?”

“Well, just that it’s for, y’know, killing people. And that you can get expelled from the Kirin Tor for teaching it to novices.”

“You’re right about the last part,” said Kel’Thuzad. “But it’s about more than killing.”

Jaina drummed her fingers against the cane. “There are three schools of battle magic, but it’s the flashy, offensive spells that everyone thinks of first. Fireballs, and such.” 

Kinndy was nodding, attention glued to Jaina. 

“The first school is support magic. Think of-” She paused. “Think of Deathwing’s attack on Stormwind.”

“O-okay.”

“He destroyed buildings and set things on fire. There were people trapped in those buildings and fires burning out of control across the city. We think of support roles as non-magical: Stormwind’s firefighters and medics, the guards who led the city’s population to safety, and people who helped dig through the rubble for survivors afterward. But a support mage is incredibly useful: they would use spells to find people who were trapped, to bring them water, food, and sometimes air. They could create illusions to hide people, make portals to help them escape, and prop up crumbling walls with magical force to give the medics time to reach survivors.”

“I never thought of that as battle magic.”

Jaina nodded. “Everyone who studies battle magic learns support spells. _Everyone._ ” She pointed at Kel’Thuzad. “He’s great at illusions. I’m good at portals.”

“I thought portal magic was an advanced part of conjuration?”

“The technical aspects, yes, but most application falls under support magic.”

Kinndy was quiet for a moment. “Like Theramore. Rhonin made a portal so we could escape.”

“Yes.” She started to force her mind away from the memory of Theramore, then remembered Ysadéan’s firm words about pushing herself and relented. Grief and guilt flooded her mind and she closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes, like Theramore.” 

She cleared her throat and continued. 

“The second school is defensive magic. In our Stormwind example, defense mages will shield others from harm, and guard the medics or firefighters while they work. On a battlefield, defensive mages hold the line against an enemy, or draw their attention away from civilians or supports. They use attack spells, like fireballs, but they use them to defend, not advance.” She pointed to herself. “I am a defensive battle mage.”

“But you fought Deathwing like three separate times.”

She nodded. “I was there to distract him or hold him so others could attack or escape. Offensive battle mages are the ones who press the advance. They attack, they push, they invade. Offensive mages start a fight or join a fight by striking at the enemy, not protecting those under attack.”

She paused to cough, praying that she could clear her throat gracefully, without falling into a full-on fit.

Kel’Thuzad took over. “Defense and offense do blur together. A defensive mage could make a pre-emptive attack if it means shielding someone or something from harm, and an offensive mage could hold a position to antagonize an opponent. Of course, these are large scale examples. In one-on-one combat, a mage is all three, though their personal fighting style will tend toward offense or defense. For example-”

He rolled up his sleeves and rubbed his hands together.

“Throw something at me.”

Kinndy took a step back. “P-pardon?”

“Throw something at me. A rock, a spell, whatever you want.”

She glanced up at Jaina.

“Go on.”

Kinndy kept her eyes on Kel’Thuzad as she leaned down and picked up a fist-sized rock. “Are you gonna, uh, gonna fight back?”

“Throw it and find out.”

“He’s not going to fight back.”

Kinndy reared back and whipped the rock at Kel’Thuzad with admirable accuracy.

The pattern on Kel’Thuzad’s robes suddenly shimmered and sprang free of the fabric. Metallic thread glinted, twisted into links, and a line of silver flashed across the path of the rock, cutting it to pieces.

Kinndy yelled and scrambled back several steps. “What was that?! What did you do?”

Kel’Thuzad gestured to the chains that floated around him in a slowly turning helix. “What do you think?”

Kinndy clutched her staff. “Oh my god! I thought that stuff was decorative!”

“Don’t worry too much about the details right now,” Jaina advised. “Focus on how he responded to your attack.”

Kinndy blew out a deep breath and nodded. “He cut up the rock.”

“Right. The rock didn’t reach me because I destroyed it. That’s an example of how an offensive battle mage defends themself.” Kel’Thuzad made a beckoning gesture. “Try it again.”

Kinndy threw another rock and this time a mandala of sparkling light appeared and the rock bounced off.

“That’s defensive magic. Because you made a shield.”

Kel’Thuzad nodded. “Offense strikes, defense repels.” He folded his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly. “As I said, in a real fight, you use a mix of all schools but it is worth understanding the differences. The more you understand, the more you find which school fits you best, the more you tailor your spells, and the stronger you become as a battle mage.”

Kinndy nodded, pigtails bouncing.

“In a one-on-one fight it’s important to identify your opponents stronger school so you know what sort of attack and response to expect.” Jaina eased herself off the table and stood beside Kinndy. “For example, because Kel’Thuzad is an offensive battle mage, he’s more likely to destroy projectiles, attack your shields, and break spells. That takes more energy and effort than placing shields and re-directing strikes. A strong defensive mage can wear out an offensive mage.”

“But then how do you win against him? Just by waiting for him to get tired? How would _you_ take him down?”

“Remember not to focus on details for now. We’re not Kel’Thuzad and Jaina, we’re just attack and defense.”

“Okay, but really? Like… how would that work?”

Jaina clearly remembered debating with her peers which members of the Council of Six would win in a fight. It was a frequently discussed topic during their first months of battle magic training and everybody had a favourite, usually their mentor. Their contests were mostly based on conjecture since few apprentices at that time had seen their teachers in a real fight and it was always an event when anyone on the Council chose to spar. Jaina would admit that some money changed hands afterward.

She glanced at Kel’Thuzad. He was attempting to suppress a grin and failing.

“Well…”

“The only predictable outcome would be a staggering amount of property damage.”

Kinndy looked disappointed and Jaina hesitated. A real battle between them would be over quickly- Kel’Thuzad was her subject, bound to serve her will, and as strong as he was, Jaina could still wrestle him under control. _Would it cost me my life?_

“When we spar,” he began and Kinndy’s eyes lit up, “she keeps teleporting me to throw off my spell-casting or move me to awkward terrain. That’s not something another mage would have the stamina for. She also punched me in the face once.”

Kinndy gasped.

“That was an accident. I almost broke my hand!”

“It worked though. For a second I thought you decided to fight dirty.”

“Not my style but _he_ keeps grabbing innocent bystanders-”

“-they know the risks when they choose to watch.”

“It’s a cheap trick!”

“And you fall for it every time-”

“-no, _I_ choose the moral high ground because it makes a match more complex and difficult.”

Kel’Thuzad put his hands on his hips. “More difficult? You should try managing _these_ things.” The chains glittered and peeled away from his robe again.

Jaina tilted her head. “Hm. Sure, let me try.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Come on.” She beckoned to him, then looked over to Kinndy. “This is how our matches go. We fight until one of us does something interesting and then we get distracted examining the spell. Learning something new is the best outcome of a sparring match, in my opinion.”

Kel’Thuzad shed the chains and looped them over Jaina’s shoulders.

“Lighter than I expected.” She ran her fingers down the links. “Ah, I see. They’re part magic and part real material. You shift the mass to whatever part will contact a physical object? That’s very clever.”

“Now try animating them.”

The chains lifted, froze as Jaina figured out the spell, then slithered into the waiting helix. She gave them a tug.

“I like this!”

Kel’Thuzad held out his hand. “See if you can grab my wrist.”

Jaina bit her lip. The hard part of the spell was shifting enough of the physical material into the necessary shape while maintaining an unbroken string of magic. After a few minutes and false starts, she wound the chains around Kel’Thuzad’s forearm and pulled them tight.

He looked to Kinndy. “Another important part of mastering battle magic is learning from your opponent. Now Jaina knows exactly what this spell is and she can defend against it more effectively.”

“I kind of want these now.”

Kel’Thuzad snapped his fingers and the chains returned to his robe. “They’re not difficult to make. I’ll share the spell.”

Jaina turned back to Kinndy. “All right. We got a bit side-tracked there. Now, each time you attack Kel’Thuzad, you’ll see the chains or the shield. Your goal today is learning to sense the difference between the offensive and defensive spells.”

Kinndy grabbed another rock. “Okay. I’m ready.”

* * *

Jaina held up the singed paper and frowned.

This was the page with the unfamiliar spellmap that she had been looking at several days ago when she passed out. Inside the normal, circular base of the spell was a diamond. Arranged inside was an asymmetrical pattern of glyphs so small she could barely decipher their shape. Once she found a magnifying glass, they became even more mystifying. They were meaningless in every magical language she recognized.

But the diamond made her think. It was an uncommon shape in arcane spells because energy could be trapped or lost at sharp corners. The sort of spells that did involve shapes with corners were typically destructive, but this particular map didn’t have the necessary charge points to add energy for a blast or a projectile.

She turned the page over, as though further information might suddenly appear after several minutes of checking. (It wasn’t an entirely futile action; sometimes elements of spells were hidden and only accessed through actions, code words, or specific materials touching the paper. So far she had eliminated page flips and blood as possible activation methods.)

“Hold on a second…” 

Jaina scoured the bookshelf for, yet again, one of Kel’Thuzad’s books. It was a dictionary of magical language.

She paged through it until she arrived at the section on warlock glyphs. Though the dictionary was mostly single symbols out of context, it did have examples of how they might be arranged, and every single warlock spell was drawn in a diamond.

She compared the glyphs. None of them were in the dictionary, except-

“They’re _mirrored_!”

Jaina flipped the page in front of a lantern. With the lantern and magnifying glass, she was able to transcribe the symbols and find them in the warlock dictionary.

They still made no sense to her. Nor could she understand why- or _how_ \- a warlock spell would be embedded in an arcane spell.

Jaina let her vision turn inward, then spread it out through the Scourge. She found the front door guardians and compelled one to page through the census until she found what she was looking for: a name and an occupation.

_Zaphine - warlock._

**Find them.**

In the meantime, she worked out the use of the arcane part of the spell. It was a shield, an older version of the simple mandalas that Kel’Thuzad cast against Kinndy’s rock throwing.

“Ma’am? Your servant bid me to speak wit’ you. I am Zaphine.”

Jaina stood up to greet the warlock and stopped short. She remembered how Khadgar took pause when they met, how his eyes flicked to and away from her scars. The young woman in the doorway stared just as Khadgar had, but Jaina stared back with equal surprise.

The womans silhouette said night elf: tall, long eared, with a mane of turquoise hair. But her face said something different: her eyes didn't glow; her pupils were gold. She had elegant _kaldorei_ cheekbones but a prominent, aquiline nose, thin, feathery eyebrows, and most telling, short tusks that protruded past her bottom lip.

“Please, come in.”

Zaphine approached the desk and took the seat Jaina offered. She never took her gaze off Jaina.

“It is an honour, Lady King.”

Her accent reminded Jaina of the first person who called her ‘Lady King’; a troll death knight who died his final death defending her kingdom.

“Thank you for answering my summons. I have need of your knowledge.”

“Of course, Lady King. What can I do for you?”

Jaina showed her the spell.

Zaphine’s thin eyebrows drew together. “This is a peculiar thing.” She traced the arcane circle with a clawed finger, then tapped the diamond. “But this part, this I know. It takes life from one and gives it to another, to the spell-caster.” She looked up. “That is what I know.”

“Takes life?”

Zaphine nodded. “Yes. Steals the life-force of an enemy to heal yourself.” She underlined half of the tiny glyphs with her claw. “The other part, I cannot say.”

“It doesn’t make sense or you can’t read it?”

Zaphine paused. “It doesn’t make sense to me. I am only a student, Lady King, and a new one at that.”

Jaina paused to consider. Zaphine was the only visitor in the census who declared themself a warlock. “Do the glyphs have any meaning individually?”

“This one is ‘open’ or ‘accept’. This one ‘return’. This one ‘meet’ and this ‘star’ or ‘light’. Together they are meaningless.”

“Those are directions for building a shield with arcane magic, and that’s what this circle describes as well.”

They both studied the diagram in silence for a moment.

“Thank you, Zaphine. May I ask you something unrelated?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve been here for a month. Why stay?”

She shifted in her chair and her gaze darted aside before she answered. “The Warchief says Orgrimmar is only for the orcs now. He is making the other peoples leave.”

Jaina gasped. “Hellscream is forcing non-orcs out of the city?”

“Yes, Lady King.”

“Where is everyone going?”

“To their ancestral lands, to other cities.” Zaphine had a thick gold ring on her thumb with another band of metal held inside the edges. She spun the inner band as she spoke. ”Some have nowhere. My teacher- of alchemy, not a warlock- she is tauren. She lived in Orgrimmar for ten years. Where can she go? Her life is there. Her home is there.”

“By the Light...”

Again Jaina slipped her will into the door guard and flipped through the census. For the last month, the number of Horde visitors to Icecrown increased- as did the number who stayed. Three quarters of the non-Scourge population was now Horde.

“My god. I didn’t know. But why _here_?”

“All are welcome here. Your army- human, orc, troll, dwarf- all are alike in death. You let the bugs come here, and the wolvar. You only banish those who do bad things, who steal or hurt or kill.” She chewed her lip for a moment. “I could have gone to my father, in Sen’jin village, but it is not a good time to be strange, and near Orgrimmar.”

_Icecrown is not a home, but a place to rest. What if it becomes a home?_

Jaina thought of the big, empty room Kinndy used for her battle magic lessons. It would take some serious renovation but it could house a handful of people in comfort long-term. There were other rooms, too, that could be converted like Kinndy’s apartment. The Citadel had no shortage of empty spaces, and it also had no shortage of labourers that could work ‘round the clock.

“No,” said Jaina, “I imagine it isn’t a good time to be anything but an orc near Origrimmar.”

“I am no student of politics but this is bad for the Horde. The Horde is more than orcs.” She looked down at the spellmap. “Hellscream is bad for us.”

Jaina hesitated and chose her words carefully. “Is that a feeling that others share?”

“I can only speak for those I know.”

“Thank you for this.” Jaina spread her hand over the spellmap. “And- thank you for sharing the news about Orgrimmar. Sometimes Icecrown feels so far from the rest of the world.”

“Sometimes that might be a good thing, Lady King.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope quarantine is treating y'all as well as possible. I'm making some drawings- portraits and silly doodles- for this story and I'll start adding them as soon as I can figure out how to do that... so if you get a bunch of weird update notifications, it's probably me making a complete mess of adding pictures. Bear with me <3


	7. Intermission: Tales From the Citadel I

I. Heroes

A gentle wind ruffled the grass. The setting sun turned the sky amber from horizon to horizon, and evening birds began to stir in the lengthening shadows. All in all, a nice evening for delivering mail in the Arathi Highlands. 

Or it would’ve been without the three gnolls.

“What’s in the bag?” asked the one with the bat.

“Mail,” said Roxie.

“I bet you got some expensive stuff in there,” said the one with the chain.

She ignored him and pointed at the one with the dagger. “That’s a nice knife you got there. Dwarven?”

“Empty the bag.”

“Yeah, no. I won’t do that.”

“We’re gonna make you do it.”

“How about we go our separate ways and forget this happened?”

The one with the bat came at her first. He swung and she ducked under his arm, grabbed his tail, and let his momentum and her weight whirl him around. He hit the dagger-bearer in the mouth with the bat and they both went down, yelping.

The one with the chain wrapped it around his fist and rushed her. Roxie side-stepped and caught his wrist with the strap of her mailbag. She held her ground, yanked, and heard the crack of a joint dislocating.

She untwisted her mailbag from the howling gnoll, glared at the other two who were thinking of getting to their feet, and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“I’ll let you keep the knife.”

They didn’t bother following her.

* * *

Several kilometres later, Roxie arrived at her destination. It was the only house in sight, and on the rolling prairie, Roxie was pretty sure she could see all the way to Hillsbrad Foothills.

The house was made of wood, silvered with age, and backed into a hillock with the roof an extension of the earth covered in greenery. There was a large vegetable garden spread out to one side and beds of flowers on the other. A low hedge with a wooden gate opened onto a flagged path leading to the door. The two square windows facing the path glowed with firelight.

Roxie knocked at the door.

An elderly human man wearing an apron opened it with obvious caution. Roxie tugged on the Azeroth Post patch sewn to her jacket.

“Evening, sir. Is this the home of Anik and Pearla?”

The man nodded, still wary. “It is.”

Roxie reached into her bag and flipped through three envelopes.

“I’ve mail for you from Stormwind. Sent by Ryath, Arrow, and Saffron, Sophia, and…” She squinted at what was obviously a child’s shaky printing. “...Mila? Millie?”

His expression immediately changed and he broke into a smile. “Malia!”

“Malia. There we are.” She handed him the letters.

“Pearla! The mail’s here!” He turned back to Roxie. “We’re just about to sit down for dinner. Come in and join us.”

“That’s very kind of you but-”

“I insist. You must have walked for hours to bring these.”

A short grey-haired human woman joined the man. “Come on, dear. It’s getting dark and there are gnolls in these parts.”

Roxie did a quick once-over of the house: assorted knick-knacks, simple hand-made furniture, worn rugs, patched blankets and curtains, and a kitchen that took up half the floor plan. Pots, pans, utensils, a wood-burning iron stove, a stone oven, a fireplace with a rotisserie… 

The place smelled amazing.

The man brought a stool to the table and patted it. “I understand you lot like to be on your way be it night or day, but at least let us feed you.”

None of it set off Roxie’s danger alarms. She hung her jacket on a peg by the door and slung her mailbag around behind her.

“Thanks very much.”

The couple bustled from table to stove to oven and set out far too much food for two (or three) people on colourful tiles in the middle of the table.

“Let’s see the mail first, Anik. I’m too excited to eat. You go ahead, dear.”

The couple crowded together with the letters, both of them reading under their breath at the same time.

Roxie assessed the food. It was hard to poison a goblin; goblins were capable of eating things that would leave other species sick or dead, and what some species considered ‘spoiled’ was really just ‘aged’.

Years ago, when she first became a postal worker, Roxie might have been embarrassed by her intense suspicion of an adorable old couple in their adorable little house, but she hadn’t survived this long by trusting everything to be as it seemed.

Roxie took a bite of something bathed in sweet, peppery sauce and figurative fireworks went off in her brain.  _ Nothing  _ she had ever eaten tasted like this. She stared down at the plate. What  _ was  _ this? She went for something that looked like a long dumpling. It was filled with thick sauce, mushrooms, assorted vegetables, small pieces of meat.

Next she tried the rice- same result. She’d eaten rice a thousand times and it never tasted like this. She wanted to shovel the whole bowl into her mouth. Steamed vegetables in sauce- also amazing. Several cuts of meat- beyond delicious.

Roxie looked up at the couple who were holding hands while they read.

“Pardon me but- can I ask you something?”

The woman looked up. “Yes?”

“Why do you live all the way out here?”

The man sighed and the woman looked down at the letters. “Well… It wasn’t always just us. We had neighbours, a few minutes walk up and down the road-”

“-when there  _ was  _ a road-”

“-but then the gnolls came and most everyone left. We stayed because, well, because we built our home here and raised our children here, and the gnolls leave us alone as long as we pay them.”

“Pay them?” Roxie almost added ‘ _ with what?’  _ There was hardly anything of value in the home.

“We give them food every week.”

Suddenly the feast made sense. Roxie looked down at her plate.

“This is way,  _ way _ too good for gnolls.”

“I know,” said the woman. “But it keeps them away.”

They continued to read the letters, trading them between themselves, and reading parts out loud to each other. Roxie continued to eat. She identified some of the herbs and spices as things she had seen in the garden outside, but there were flavours she could swear she’d never tasted before.

When she looked up, the woman was dabbing away tears with her sleeve, and the man put his arm around her shoulders tightly.

“Hey, are you guys okay?”

“Our youngest grand-daughter,” said the man. “She’s learned to write.” He was trying not to cry and whether it was happiness or sadness, Roxie couldn’t tell. “Born in Stormwind! She’ll grow up safe and have so many opportunities-” He went back to hugging the woman.

Roxie put down her fork. “Um. Look. We’re not even properly introduced an’ all but this seems like a real crappy situation. You’re out here cooking for gnolls and your kid an’ grandkid’s all in Stormwind-”

“Our son and our daughter both live in Stormwind. We stayed here so they could leave. That was the deal.”

“Deal? With the gnolls?”

The woman nodded.

Roxie felt her cheeks flush with anger. She prided herself on staying composed regardless of the situation- a calm demeanour, a casual tone, and sometimes aggressive friendliness served her best. But this? This deserved some anger.

“Do they let you visit?” She knew the answer before she asked.

“No,” the man replied. He looked down at the letter in his hand. “Ryath… every letter, he begs us to come live with him. I can’t bear to tell him…”

“We never told the children why we stay.” The woman held her partner’s hand. “If we tried to leave- well. It’s impossible now. We’re too old for a journey like that.”

The food turned tasteless in Roxie’s mouth. She looked down at her hands and forced her fist to unclench from the fork.

“Okay. So. I’ve been all over Azeroth and what you’re cooking here is better than 99% of the food I’ve eaten anywhere else.  _ Anywhere.  _ You should be with your family, cooking for them. And maybe for Stormwind because I’m not kidding this is ridiculously good and you could open a restaurant with portions like this.”

The woman sniffled into her sleeve. “You’re very kind but this is how it is.”

“If you could leave, what would you need to take with you?”

The man shook his head. “Stop. We can’t leave and there’s no point dreaming about it.”

“This ain’t dreaming,” said Roxie. “Seriously. Whattaya need?”

The couple looked at each other and the woman spoke hesitantly. “I’d take my rolling pin. Sophia’s is no good... And- and the cilantro- she’s never been able to grow it.”

“Pearla…”

“He’d take his copper pots.”

She fell silent.

“Is that all?” Roxie gestured around her. “That’s it?”

“That’s what I would choose. If we’re dreaming.”

Roxie stood up. “I’ll be back in a week. Pack what you need.”

“What do you mean- wait-”

“A week. I promise. We’ll get you out of here.”

“But dear- the gnolls- the journey-”

Roxie put her jacket on and gave them a grin and a salute. “Don’t worry about the journey. I know a mage who owes me a favour.”

* * *

When Roxie returned a week later, she was half prepared to see the house burnt down or something equally horrible. She had to admit she was uneasy about the gnolls- they probably knew where she had gone after their altercation with her.

But the house was still standing, the garden in bloom, and when she announced herself, Anik and Pearla opened the door. They shared a stunned expression.

“You- you really-”

“You came back!”

“I wouldn’t leave ya hanging.” 

The couple smothered her in a tandem hug.

“Hey, hey, let’s stick to business here.” She turned to Jaina, who smiled brightly. “This is Jenny. She’s my mage friend.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” said the disguised Lich King. 

She wore a glamour that gave her brown hair, freckles in place of the scars, and a little more colour in her cheeks than usual. Instead of the cane, she walked with a gold staff topped with a green crystal. Her hair was tied in a jaunty ponytail and she wore a purple dress that fit a little tight, which gave her a sort of buxom-farmgirl-turned-mage look. (Roxie was pleased to discover that Jaina did, in fact, own clothes that weren’t varying shades of depression.) It all made her appear like a normal, approachable human.

“Oh my goodness- hello- welcome to our home-”

“Come in, please!”

They had to feed Roxie and Jaina, of course. This time it was pastries. How the hell did they make pastries out in the Arathi sticks? Roxie tossed the question aside and dug in.

After the ‘snack’, Roxie helped the couple pack while Jaina stayed in the yard, pretending that it took her more than two seconds to build a portal. She drew what looked like an impressive spell-circle but Roxie couldn’t tell if it was the real thing or just a fancy design. Either way, it was very convincing.

“I’m so nervous.”

“Where are we going to end up?”

“In the Mages’ Quarter, but don’t worry, we won’t leave ya there.”

“I can’t believe you would do this for us-”

“We’re strangers to you!”

“Hey.” Roxie took Pearla’s hands in her own. “The thing about the mail service is that there’s people at both ends of each letter. Sometimes, y’know, those people should be closer together.”

More hugging.

“The world needs more people like you.”

“All right, all right. Ja-Jenny? Are you ready?”

“All ready, Roxie.”

* * *

More than one magic-user in the Mages’ Quarter eyed Jaina with suspicion or curiosity. At first, Roxie was wary that they might blow her cover, but a covert question to Jaina- while the couple were occupied with their surroundings- assured her that none of these people were aware of anything more than the glamours.

“They probably think I’m an old woman trying to look young.” She was leaning hard on the staff today, but she was smiling.

Anik and Pearla’s two children lived in the Old Town, part of which was still being rebuilt from Deathwing’s assault. The building they stopped at was recently repaired, and located above a shop with a ‘For Lease’ sign in the window.

Roxie pointed to the sign. “That right there? That’s fate. That’s what that is.”

The couple missed her suggestion entirely as they bustled up the stairs to the apartment above.

Roxie and Jaina stood on the street below with the couple’s few belongings but the shouts, the tears, and the sheer, pure joy of the reunion poured down and enveloped them, and also several complete strangers who paused to rubberneck at the commotion.

It turned out that their son, daughter, daughter-in-law, son-in-law, grand-daughters, an uncle, two aunts, and five cousins also lived in the building. The entire top floor was divided into four apartments and the family rented the whole thing.

“You got any family, Lady Jaina?”

Jaina paused. “I have one brother living here, in Stormwind. I had another but he was killed during the Second War. And there’s my mother. Uh. She’s alive but... Well. That’s a long story for another time. What about you?”

“Mom, dad- divorced- step-mom, seven siblings, and five step-siblings. I’m the youngest.”

“ _ Seven  _ siblings?!”

Roxie glanced up. “Goblins have litters, not one kid.”

“...I did not know that.”

“Yep. I was lone-born, which makes me rare and special.”

Jaina leaned over and whispered. “No Roxie, your  _ heart _ is what makes you rare and special.”

“Euurrgh.”

It wasn’t long before the two of them were swept off the street by a bunch of physically affectionate extended family, all of whom insisted on hugging and patting, with some hand-shaking from the more reserved ones.

It also wasn’t long before half the family was in the son’s kitchen, arguing and prepping food, while the other half demanded stories from Roxie and Jaina, but mostly Roxie.

“Tell us everywhere you’ve been!”

“It’d be easier to list the places I  _ haven’t  _ been-”

“How do you get to  _ Orgrimmar _ ?”

“What about Darnassus?”

“Have you ever been on a sailing ship?”

“What about a gryphon? Have you ridden a gryphon?”

“A zeppelin?”

“Have you ever seen a sabercat?”

“What about dire wolves? Are they scary?”

“What’s it like dealing with trolls?”

“Have you seen a dragon?”

“How do you carry all the mail?”

“How do you find the people the mail is for?”

“What if someone is  _ dead _ ?”

“How many languages can you read?”

“Have you ever been in a combat zone?”

“Can you teach me how to say ‘hello’ in tauren?”

“Teach me how to swear in dwarven!”

“Don’t teach him how to swear in dwarven.”

Roxie gave everyone a number and answered their questions in order.

Jaina sat beside her and never stopped smiling.

Then there was food. So much food. And so much conversation. Roxie thought she was pretty good at carrying a conversation but this was on another level. Everyone around her seemed able to juggle two or more separate discussions at once.

She glanced sideways at Jaina, who she had never seen speaking with more than two or three living people at one time. She had a sort of stunned expression but her eyes were darting between the family members as they talked.

One of the kids tugged on Roxie’s sleeve. “Hey, sorry. Family rule- whoever doesn’t cook has to clean.”

“No, no, Roxie will never have to cook  _ or  _ clean in this house!”

“I’ll help you,” offered Jaina.

* * *

Jaina found herself washing dishes while Ryath’s oldest daughter dried them.

“I’m Saffron,” she said shyly.

“Hi Saffron. I’m Jenny.”

“You’re a mage.”

“Yes, I am.”

Saffron hadn’t said much during the meal. She sat and listened, and Jaina realized the girl had been watching her the whole time.

“I want to be a mage when I grow up,” she mumbled.

“What would you like to study?”

Saffron looked up. “How- how to fly. And how to make ice.” She swallowed hard. “How to make the spells you have right now, that change how you look. Glamours.”

“The key to glamours is making them as  _ small _ as possible.”

“I know.” Saffron’s voice was almost lost in the background noise. A fierce blush spread across her face from ear to ear. “I know you’re not who you say you are.” The words spilled out of her mouth so fast Jaina had to take a moment to unravel them.

“What do you mean?”

Saffron glanced around Jaina’s shoulder towards the rest of the party. Jaina glanced too. Other non-cooking family members were wiping down the table, collecting errant dishes, bringing the family yet more food and drinks. There was no one near them.

“I’ve seen you before. I’ve  _ felt  _ you before. I  _ know  _ that I know you. But different.”

Jaina stacked another clean plate on a growing pile. “You have? What do you feel?”

Saffron shook her head. “It’s weird. It’s a scent- but also a sound- and it’s  _ big. _ I don’t how to say it- it’s- you’re  _ bigger _ than you’re trying to seem. A lot bigger.”

“Impressive.”

They stood in motionless silence for a moment.

“How old are you?”

“T-twelve.”

“You’re old enough to start mage training in Dalaran. And you’re definitely strong enough.”

"I… I thought I might but…"

Jaina nodded. “You could start as a first year student in the spring semester.”

The girl twisted the dish towel in her hands.

“I could give you a recommendation.”

“ _ Really?  _ I  _ knew  _ you weren’t a hedge-witch!”

Jaina smiled. “The fact that you can tell I’m wearing glamours and that I’m  _ bigger _ than what I seem- very good. How many glamours?”

“T-two. One on your face and one on your h-hair.”

“Excellent.”

More silence, and Jaina returned to washing dishes. Saffron stayed still, twisting the rag.

“Can- can I see who you are? I think I know but...”

“How do you know?”

Saffron took a deep breath and let it out in shaky gasps. “ _ Deathwing. _ ”

“Oh.” Jaina stared into the water. Then she turned to the girl. “Is your family okay? Were they injured?”

Saffron’s lips quivered. “My uncle died. Auntie Sophia’s husband.”

“I’m so sorry, Saffron.”

“Thank you. I mean.  _ Thank you. _ ”

Jaina dried her hands on the floral apron someone had provided for her, then glanced towards the others. Three of the cousins were sneaking away from their cleaning duties.

She held up a finger. “One look, then tell me if you were right.”

Jaina put up a thin shield around them- nothing obvious, just enough to make glances pass over them- and let the glamours fade.

Saffron dropped the towel and her hands flew to cover her mouth.

Jaina removed the shield and replaced the glamours. “So?”

“ _ Oh. My. God. _ ”

“Were you right?”

Saffron nodded once, then picked up the towel. She was still staring. “You’re… _you’re_ _in my dad’s kitchen_.”

“Mhm. Parties wear me out. They’re nice- your whole family are wonderful!- but I’d rather watch. Or talk one on one. This is nice.”

Saffron shook herself and took a wet dish off the pile. “Yeah, me too!”

They washed and dried in silence for some minutes. Saffron continued to dart glances at Jaina.

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“How do you know Roxie?”

Jaina glanced towards the family, gathered round the postal worker. Even those not in direct conversation with her were angled toward her.

“She delivers mail to Icecrown.”

Saffron turned to stare as well.

“ _ Badass. _ ”

Jaina smiled. “You have no idea.”

* * *

II. Shot in the Dark

Kel’Thuzad was fifteen years old and his parents had no idea what to do with him. 

He and Sa’reya had started sneaking into Everlook, which incensed their parents and led to shouting matches, a variety of punishments, and his sister spending even more of her time as a bear.

“What’s their problem?” Kel’Thuzad stabbed at the ice with his dagger. “I’m human and I don’t even know how to speak Common. What- do they expect me to just stay in Winterspring forever, like them? I don’t fancy being a goddamn hermit for the rest of my short, stupid life.”

Sa’reya, in her night elf shape for the first time in days, gave the stubborn ice a stomp. “They don’t understand that the world is changing. You were just a baby when I first started talking about becoming a druid. Mother cried for days. Women are supposed to be Sentinels and priestesses, not druids, according to them. And when Alunin decided to become a priest there was even more crying and dad threatened to kick him out.”

Kel’Thuzad kept digging at the ice. “But I’m not  _ kaldorei _ and they won’t even talk about it. I’m ‘their son’. But I’m not.”

Sa’reya said nothing for a long time. “I think you should leave.”

Kel’Thuzad raised his head. “What?”

“And I want to go with you. I don’t want to spend my life here either. I need to learn from a real druid, not dad’s books and my  _ instincts _ . Let’s go to Darnassus. There’s human visitors- you could learn Common-  _ we _ could learn Common.” She smiled. “I want to go somewhere that has summer for more than six weeks. Don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Sa’reya shrugged into her bear form, reared up, and smashed her paws down against the ice. It shuddered and cracks spidered out from the impact. She returned to her elven form and watched Kel’Thuzad hack at the cracks.

“You need a teacher, too.”

He slammed the knife into the ice so hard that the blade snapped, and bounced and spun across the frozen lake.

“Yeah. That’s never going to happen.”

* * *

Once again, Kel’Thuzad lost a rabbit in the sheltering boughs of the fir trees. He yelled a curse after it and swatted snow off a branch with one gloved hand.

Something on the other side of the tree gave a deep snort. Maybe a sabercat? Kel’Thuzad took a step back.

“Scram!” he shouted. “I see you there! Get lost!”

He waved his arms, flapping his coat to look bigger. Unless the cat was really hungry, shouting and threatening usual drove them off. Kel’Thuzad prayed it wasn’t hungry.

“Go chase the damn rabbit! Useless animal!”

The snort rumbled into a loud growl. Kel’Thuzad made a grab for the dagger he no longer had, then fumbled his bow off his back and took aim.  _ Just my luck. I’ll get eaten by something rather than get dinner. _

The whole tree shuddered. Then the snow beyond it crumbled and began to slide off the form of something very,  _ very  _ large that had been buried beneath it in what he first thought to be a drift.

The snow began to steam and just as a brilliant sapphire began to show beneath the layer of white, Kel’Thuzad realized how close he had wandered to Mazthoril, a stronghold of the Blue Dragonflight.

“Oh,  _ fu- _ ”

The growl broke into a bone-rattling roar and Kel’Thuzad turned and ran for his life. He heard the roar settle into a constant low growl, heard the ice-brittle branches of trees breaking behind him, heard the  _ whoosh _ of air as enormous wings opened.

_ Run! RUN! _

Distantly, Kel’Thuzad knew he couldn’t outrun an airborne dragon, even if he wasn’t fighting through knee-deep snow, but fear sent him into mindless flight like the lost rabbit. The growl broke into a huff of breath and Kel’Thuzad threw himself sideways, under the lower branches of the closest tree, and scrambled away. The tree creaked and toppled behind him. He managed to dodge as the top of the tree slammed down at his heels, lost his footing, and sprawled full-length on his face.

With a scream that was half fear and half frustration with the whole damn world, he rolled onto his back, and faced the dragon. It was a full-grown drake, glittering blue in the sunlight, teeth as long as his hand-

Kel’Thuzad put up the only defense he had left and blasted the blue drake full in the face with ill-learned, poorly-controlled arcane magic. The drake’s head whipped back with the force of the desperate blow and gave Kel’Thuzad a fraction of a second to continue fleeing. He charged away, heedless of direction.

As luck would have it, he found the edge of a steep ravine just in time to realize his mistake but not fast enough to correct it.

He pitched over into empty space, flung out his hands quickly enough to break his initial fall, then something smashed into his jaw, and everything went black.

* * *

Kel’Thuzad opened his eyes and the world was still black. He raised a trembling hand to his cheek, and found the whole area swollen and crusted with frozen blood. He struggled to breathe. There was a great weight on his chest. He gathered enough strength to cough.

Suddenly light flooded in and the weight lifted. He found himself staring up at the blue drake. Its massive paw hovered above him and he realized it had been holding him beneath it.

“I thought perhaps you were an especially rude and slow night elf, but no, you’re an angry little human.”

Kel’Thuzad made an incoherent yelp at the drake’s voice. He didn’t know they were capable of speech and its-  _ his _ \- voice was as deep and threatening as a growl.

“An angry little human who speaks the night elven language and wears their garb. Tell me, little one, what kind of human are you who goes about as a night elf and uses the magic of the Blue Dragonflight?”

Kel’Thuzad gasped around the pain of what was almost certainly a broken jaw.

“I thought you were a cat-”

The drake chuckled.

“Is that an apology? For calling me a ‘ _ useless animal’ _ ?”

“Yes-” Speaking hurt so much. “Please,  _ please  _ don’t eat me-”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you?”

Tears trickled down his cheeks and he gasped another breath. “I’m-” Anger at  _ everything _ welled up in his chest and he slammed his fist against the frozen ground. “ _ I don’t know! _ ”

The drake drew back. He said something in Common. Kel’Thuzad squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel his fingers and toes. His jaw throbbed with every breath but the rest of him was only bruised and cold.

“I don’t understand Common.”

“How peculiar.” The drake shifted. “Do you know how many humans I have heard speak the night elven tongue?”

“Obviously not.”

Another chuckle. “None!”

“How many- how many humans have you seen use your magic?”

“Many. So many. But none truly grasp it.” He nudged Kel’Thuzad’s leg with one claw. “I suppose it isn’t your fault, as a species. You have such little lives. Not nearly enough time to understand.”

“How much could I learn?”

“You?”

“How much? In a human life? How much?”

“If you live to your furthest years, you could perhaps learn what our whelps know on instinct.”

Kel’Thuzad swallowed. “Then let me live. I want to learn.” He blinked back more tears. “I can do it- please, give me a chance- I’m not good at anything else.”

“And you think you’re  _ good _ at magic?”

“Not yet, but I could be.”

The drake laughed and leaned over him. His jaws opened and Kel’Thuzad put up his hands in a vain attempt to fend off death.

The drake delicately picked him up by the hood of his jacket and set him on his feet.

Kel’Thuzad wobbled and braced himself against the drake’s foreleg. “I can learn. I can- I just need to find a teacher- go somewhere-” Then the futility of it overwhelmed him and he sat down hard. “Where I can learn Common and  _ then _ magic.”

He became acutely aware that he was fifteen years old already, spoke only one language, and didn’t know anything about magic except that he could use it when he was terrified.

“What’s the point.”

The drake shifted. “You’re too dreary to eat now.”

Kel’Thuzad twisted round to curse at him. The drake stared back and his anger faltered. There was something uniquely compelling in his eyes, an intelligence that went beyond sentience, something vast and inescapable, and for the first time in his life, Kel’Thuzad saw eternity and wanted it.

“What’s your name?” he whispered.

“Do you deserve my name?”

“Yes,” said Kel’Thuzad. “My name is Kel’Thuzad and I want  _ you _ to teach me. What should I call you, master?”

The drake snorted steam into the freezing air. “You’re a very peculiar creature, Kel’Thuzad- part night elf and part mage.”

“I’ll never be a night elf. But I am a mage, and I can be a better one if you will teach me. Please.”

The drake gathered a clump of snow in one taloned foot. “Do you see this?” The snow melted and dripped out of his grasp. “This is a human life. I can hardly hold it before it slips away.”

“Then what’s the harm? I bet I’ll die before you get bored.”

“Go,” he said. “Go back to your home. I smell a druid’s scent on you. They can heal your injuries.” He opened his wings. “My name is Spellmaw. Find me again, Kel’Thuzad, when your mind is clear.”

* * *

Kel'Thuzad returned to the place where he first encountered Spellmaw again and again, but came up empty-handed each time. He circled Mazthoril as closely as he dared and never saw the drake. He widened his search, looked for broken trees, tracks, kills, anything that might look like the work of a dragon and found nothing.

He crouched in the snow near the mouth of the great cavern that led to the heart of Mazthoril and watched the guardians- blue dragonspawn- for hours.

Still no Spellmaw.

Kel'Thuzad began to think the drake had simply been teasing him and ceased surveilling the cavern. He stayed home unless it was his turn to hunt, practising the few words and phrases of Common that he knew, making and repairing arrows, and generally sulking.

"You're coming with me." Sa'reya grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the house. "We're going hunting."

Instead, they went to Everlook, to the inn, and sat in a corner of the attached pub.

"Why are we here?"

"Wait," she said.

So they waited. The goblin that ran the pub spoke Darnassian- along with at least four other languages- so they ordered food and drink, and waited.

Finally, Kel'Thuzad saw what his sister was waiting for: a tauren druid in full adventurer's gear. Her armour bore scars of past battles so clearly it was functional, but the leather- and  _ wood- _ was carved, stamped, and layered into a wearable work of art. She carried a mageweave pack that she set on the bar beside her; the fabric itself glowed with magic. Her tawny mane was strewn with real, blooming wildflowers, and strapped to her back was a staff twined with living vines and circled by fireflies.

Kel'Thuzad stared at her pack. He could  _ feel  _ the weave of the fabric, see the intersecting and overlapping threads of magic. The air around it shimmered with an iridescence that transcended visual sight and when the tauren picked it up and moved it to her other side so her troll companion could sit beside her, the pack left an eddy of magic in its wake.

He could  _ see  _ it. He could  _ smell _ it.

_ I've been going about finding Spellmaw all wrong!  _ His brothers and sister could trail prey with their sense of smell, track the faintest footprints, but Kel'Thuzad could see and smell magic itself. He could  _ taste  _ it.

The place where he first found Spellmaw bedded down- now he remembered the iridescence of the snow, more than glittering ice crystals. And Mazthoril- how had he missed the overwhelming flavour of  _ azure _ , the light that stitched the edges of each dragonspawn into the dull, flat colours of the mortal world?

He was angry at himself briefly, but only briefly. Sa'reya was speaking but Kel'Thuzad was mesmerized. He looked around the pub. One patron had a shield that swam with the taste of blood and the colour of a stormy sky. Another had a ring that twinkled with scarlet despite being inside the wearer's glove.

And behind the bar- three unassuming glass bottles that billowed and swirled with life.

"There's magic everywhere," he blurted.

Sa'reya turned to him. "Yes, of course- wait, you mean  _ your  _ magic?"

"How did I never see it before?"

"I thought the same of living magic at first! Think of it this way: we grew up in the forest. We see trees everyday. We climb them, we cut them down, we plant them, we burn them, we carve them. Then one day someone tells you, ' _ This _ is a pine tree, and  _ this  _ is a fir tree.' Now, everytime you look at the forest you see pine trees and fir trees. You always saw them, they've always been there, but now you have names for what you see."

As she spoke, Kel'Thuzad realized she was right: he had always been able to see magic, to taste it and smell it. It had always been part of his life, but he had no more understanding of what it was than he had use for knowing the difference between tree species.

Until now.

* * *

Once he knew what he was looking for, Kel’Thuzad had little trouble tracking Spellmaw. The drake patrolled a loosely defined territory that covered much of southern Winterspring. The sky sparkled in his wake; the wind smelled of star-speckled dawn. Kel’Thuzad followed him for three days, never quite close enough to catch up while the drake rested. On the morning of the fourth day, Spellmaw didn’t rise from the place where he bedded down right away. A sprinkling of new snow covered the drake’s brilliant hide and once again he looked like an unassuming snowdrift.

“Spellmaw.”

The drake raised his head and blew out a steaming breath.

“Little human. Is your mind clear now?”

“Yes,” said Kel’Thuzad. “I’m ready to be your student.”

The drake yawned. “Perhaps.”

* * *

Spellmaw treated Kel’Thuzad the way Kel’Thuzad would treat a particularly curious crow: he could identify it among others and he might go out of his way now and then to interact with it. He guessed that the drake probably saw the difference in their intelligence- and capability with magic- in a similar way as well, but he was happy to be a clever little crow if it meant the drake would teach him.

At first, Kel’Thuzad learned only to mimic the drake. He copied and practised until he could replicate the small things Spellmaw showed him. After months of demonstrating that he was proficient at this, Spellmaw began to instruct him in magical theory; the mechanics of magic, why it worked the way it did, how to manipulate it, and- to his surprise- that magic had limits.

He also learned he wasn’t the first human that Spellmaw had taught; there were people who pledged their lives to the dragons- the Wyrmcult, who did the bidding of their chosen Flight, and there were accomplished mages of several species among them. Spellmaw knew how to explain things to a mere human so that Kel’Thuzad could grasp the concepts and directions. He wasn’t entirely sure if the drake was patient or if weeks of correcting and encouraging Kel’Thuzad’s practise without annoyance didn’t seem so long to Spellmaw.

Kel’Thuzad never bothered to find out what Spellmaw’s position was within the hierarchy of Mazthoril, but he suspected the drake was a fairly important member. Sometimes he would go weeks without seeing Spellmaw or finding any trace of him. During those times, he practised and practised, studied the magic around him, experimenting with his knowledge, testing ideas he extrapolated from the experiments, and applying his results to new experiments.

The first thing Kel’Thuzad had managed to do with magic was to fight. Spellmaw had no qualms about teaching him how to improve that skill and drove him to exhaustion for the first time since Kel’Thuzad began training. It was a valuable lesson; magic had limits and so did Kel’Thuzad.

Sa’reya didn’t miss her brother’s burnout.

She sat down cross-legged on the foot of his bed. The frame creaked; it seemed the more time she spent as a bear, the more her night elf form began to resemble her favoured animal. She had always been tall but now the breadth of her shoulders and thickness of muscle made her seem even larger.

“So.”

“What?”

“What’d the dragon do to you?”

Kel’Thuzad groaned. “How long have you been following me?”

“Since the beginning, pretty much. You’re obsessing over magic in the woods, searching for something- a dragon is a living thing. I have no problem tracking him either.”

“Who else knows?”

“No one. You know neither of our brothers can keep their mouth shut and our parents-” She blew out a long breath.

“Would not be pleased.”

“Something like that.”

“Does he know you’re following us?”

“Definitely.”

“Figures.”

“So what’d he do to you?”

Kel’Thuzad sat up and grimaced. “He’s teaching me how to fight. Getting hit with a frostbolt is one thing but did you know that handling and shaping magic- aggressively- has a physical effect on your own body?”

Sa’reya cocked her head. “Arcane magic is unnatural- don’t look at me like that, hear me out. It exists naturally in the world but it isn’t part of nature. It isn’t in you, it isn’t part of living things. I guess it’s like using a sword and shield. You can tire yourself using them and you could cut yourself on your own sword if you’re clumsy.”

“That’s true.”

“Do you want to spar? When you’re all in one piece again.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m insulted that you’re asking that. Yes, I’m sure. Are  _ you _ ?”

* * *

Spellmaw also began to teach Kel’Thuzad to speak Common. First, he learned words associated with magic and the business of being a mage, then he learned to describe the world around him. Within these very specific lessons were the simple words that knit a language together and Kel’Thuzad took that knowledge to Sa’reya and to Everlook.

Kel’Thuzad was sixteen years old and now he could hold a somewhat stilted conversation with visitors at the inn.

“You’ve got the strangest accent,” the goblin bartender told him. “Never heard Common spoke that way before.”

It hadn’t occurred to Kel’Thuzad that Spellmaw might not speak Common the way other people spoke it. To him, every speaker he met at the inn sounded the same: they clipped off the beginnings and ends of words, spoke too fast, dropped sounds and added others, used known words in different ways.

He and Sa’reya began to offer their expert knowledge of the area as guides to make money. Sometimes they guided those who wanted beautiful scenery, sometimes to those who wished to hunt, sometimes to those who simply wanted the quickest way from one place to another, or who needed someone to guard them as they went. The owner of the inn asked a percentage of their earnings and advertised their business.

Kel’Thuzad was seventeen years old and although his parents knew about his job- and disapproved- they didn’t know that every time he escorted a traveller to the borders of Winterspring, he yearned to go with them. 

And they certainly didn’t know that their son spent days in the company of a dragon who embodied the magic that their people had shunned for ten thousand years.

III. Joy

“Jaina wants to see us.”

Soffriel drew a shaky breath he didn’t need.

“Yes, sir.”

Kel’Thuzad growled. “Don’t ‘sir’ me, boy.”

“Sorry.”

Lady Jaina would say 'yes’, or she would say 'no’. Soffriel wasn't prepared for either outcome. ‘Yes’ meant he chose to be condemned by his people. 'No’ meant he was fated to exist as nothing more than a castaway thrall.

But ‘yes’ gave him a rush of something like joy when he thought about it. All he knew of 'yes’ was the wonder he felt when Kel’Thuzad’s magic pulled Soffriel's broken vertebrae back into place enough for him to kneel before Lady Jaina.

“Walk beside me.”

Soffriel took one long step to get abreast of the lich. He said nothing more and they took the walk in silence.

They found Jaina in the same mostly-empty room where they had first been properly introduced. She was sketching diagrams in a notebook, but closed it and greeted them when they entered.

Soffriel couldn't read her expression. The scars on her cheeks distracted him, reminded him of the markings earned by  _ kaldorei  _ women when they passed their trials of adulthood. Jaina was human but she had earned her marks too.

“Is this what you want, Soffriel?” she asked.

“Yes, Lady King.”  _ Please let me be something like myself again. _

“Then henceforth, you shall be Kel'Thuzad’s apprentice.”

Soffriel waited for a 'but’.

“And you will be  _ my _ apprentice as well.”

A sort of vertigo struck him. “What are the conditions?”

“Work hard and don't embarrass me,” said Kel'Thuzad.

“Honour the vow you swore to your goddess. Be benevolent.” Soffriel met Lady Jaina’s gaze for the first time and her words struck him like a brand. His oath bound him to Elune, but now he was bound to Lady Jaina as well.

“Kel'Thuzad will be responsible for all of your necromancy training. I will teach you ethics, theory, and your other practical skills.”

Soffriel nodded, then felt nauseous from the motion.

“Yes, Lady King.”

“From now on, I'm Jaina.”

“Yes,” he said faintly. “Jaina.”

“Tomorrow morning, at three after dawn, come to the laboratory. We’ll start by testing some basic skills to get a sense of your knowledge.”

Soffriel couldn’t physically throw up but he sure felt like he was about to.

“You won’t be alone. I have another apprentice as well. Her name is Kinndy and though her curriculum is different from yours, you’ve both come here for the same purpose, at the same time, and it only makes sense to teach you together. And I always found my studies less daunting with an ally.” She smiled. It was a real smile, not just an expression but an extension of happiness. She looked forward to having him as an apprentice.

“Thank you, L- Jaina.”

He needed to leave and it seemed he was allowed to, so he bowed to both of his teachers and walked briskly out of the room.

“Come with me.”

Kel’Thuzad led him away. Soffriel walked beside him, reeling from Jaina's decision. Some animal part of him panicked at the idea that he  _ belonged  _ to the lich and his King now, as he had before, and told him to run, run and hide.

But running didn't work before. Now he was undead, ruined and damned, and running would only make him lost again. This time Soffriel would stand his ground.

“I'll not have my apprentice going around with such deplorable reanimation work.” Kel'Thuzad interrupted his panic. “You're held together by my hasty patching and sheer good luck.”

“I appreciate your work, sir- Kel'Thuzad.” Soffriel hesitated. After several more steps, Soffriel added: “Is that the name your parents gave you, or a name you gave yourself?”

The lich hissed a chuckle. “My parents.”

“Did they know what it meant?”

“Don't beggar your boldness now by dancing around the question, Soffriel.”

“Were you raised by my people?”

“I was. Don't worry; I left them long before my name became a curse.”

His name was unique to human ears, but little more than a descriptor to the  _ kaldorei. Son of autumn ice.  _ It was a parent name, the name a child wore until they were old enough to choose their own, or keep it. Soffriel kept his because he liked it. Kel’Thuzad could have chosen a human name, but he didn’t, so Soffriel thought he must like his name too.

But he had never known his people to take in a human child. The other way round, yes, but humans lived short, turbulent lives and who wanted a son that died before them? _Died multiple times._

Kel'Thuzad had him sit on the low stool again but this time the lich sat facing him. He frowned and grumbled his way through a thorough assessment of Soffriel’s apparently lacklustre resurrection.

The more Kel’Thuzad talked, the more Soffriel became amazed at his own survival. He should have been cannon fodder. He should have been culled from Death Knight training. He should have been paralyzed, mute, or lame.

“Jaina was right. You would have been a good doctor.”

Kel'Thuzad grunted. “I much prefer the company of animals and corpses than  _ people _ .”

Soffriel couldn’t tell whether the lich was being serious, perverse, or trying to provoke him, so he made a non-committal sound.  _ Do I count as a corpse or a person? _

Kel'Thuzad worked for hours, non-stop. Soffriel lost track of time. He sat obediently, moved when Kel'Thuzad bid him, and watched. At first he asked questions but after he exhausted his broader curiosity, he lacked the understanding to ask more specific things and fell silent.

“There we go.”

The lich sat back. His lips curved into a sharp smile that showed a glimpse of fangs. Soffriel felt a surge of affection- not for Kel'Thuzad but for someone else he couldn't remember who also smiled with his teeth.

Kel'Thuzad bid him walk, then run, then climb, and Soffriel moved as he once had, light and agile. He was strong again, real strength, not the mania of forced bloodlust, or the weight of stubborn will.

“Thank you,” Soffriel whispered.

The words felt much too small for what he had received. He couldn't begin to fathom what Kel'Thuzad had done for him but perhaps someday he could understand it, and with that ambition he felt a rush of something like joy again.

A/N: My biggest regret about Frostblood was leaving KT's backstory unfinished. Let us rectify that now! And thank you so much for the kind comments! I'm slow at replying to comments but I swear I will get to answering them all <3 And uploading some art. I hope you continue to enjoy this story and STAY SAFE EVERYONE! <3


	8. See Who I Am

A/N: Sorry it's a day late!! This was a very uncooperative chapter to edit lol 

* * *

For lack of a better word, Soffriel felt _alive._

Colours popped; light and shadow contrasted boldly. A breeze swept over his cheekbone, the barest caress. He twitched his ears this way and that, and caught a flood of sounds from down corridors and around corners.

Toward the mess hall there was the rustle of fabric, the creak of leather, and clink of jewelry; the sun had just come up and with it some of the Citadel's denizens. From the hall ahead of him came the scuff of soft-soled boots and the whisper of wolf-steps; that would be Kagra Strangleheart and her mount on their morning patrol. Down the corridor to his left went the retreating echo of hooves. Somewhere to his right, a storey below, in what had been the Oratory, soft _clicks_ underlaid with the shudder of great weight- he remembered the force of those steps though he had never seen or heard Anu'Shukhet walk inside the Citadel. The lighter, quicker steps of her honour guard accompanied her.

It felt like waking up from a nightmare.

At ground level, outside the Citadel, Soffriel heard the familiar belly laugh of the tauren paladin.

"Sure. Come at me! I'll take you both on!"

_By Elune!_ He could even hear the _thrum_ of the holy wards on the Sunwalker's hammer.

There was a loose collection of spectators in the courtyard. Soffriel joined them.

The tauren stood at the centre of the courtyard, one massive hand gripping a large wildcat by the scruff. He held the animal at arm's length with no apparent effort while it thrashed and scratched at his armour. In his other hand he held up the hammer to fend off arrow after arrow fired by a lanky human man, who seemed hesitant to approach him more closely. Soffriel couldn't blame him.

"You were saying something about two against one bein' unfair?" More laughter.

The human lowered his bow in defeat. "Well, in here maybe it isn't."

"Whatcha mean?"

"It's flat. There's no cover. That's all good if you want to smash each other up face to face or blast magic. It's not so great for a hunter though. Poor Kieran there has nowhere to hide. I've got nowhere to hide." The human gestured to the watching crowd. "Am I right?"

There was some nodding and muttered agreement.

The human continued. "Or a rogue. You lot need some shadows and what not to do your sneaking. Right? I'm right aren't I?"

The tauren let go of the cat, which hissed and ran back to its owner. "So what you thinking then?"

"Go outside the courtyard!" yelled someone from the crowd.

"Yeah! There's rocks and stuff on the ice outside the courtyard walls. Places to hide!"

"Re-match! Re-match!"

The tauren shouldered his hammer. "All right. Show me how some rocks and shadows are gonna help you win a match."

The courtyard was completely encircled by walls so the group trooped through the Citadel and out the front doors, around the side of the building and into the shadow of the courtyard wall.

Soffriel followed. The hunter was right- the glacier butted against the flank of the mountain here, slowly scraping a deep gouge into the black rock. The terrain offered a variety of obstacles, treacherous footing, and ambush points. It also offered new seating options for spectators.

Soffriel leapt up onto a large boulder with the grace of a cat and came face to face with a _kaldorei_ woman.

She made a little yelp and scooted sideways.

"Oh! I'm sorry- I didn't know someone was up here. My apologies."

The woman regained her composure, smiled, and waved him off. "No worries. I did not think anyone else might be climbin' up here. Humans, y'know."

Her accent wasn't _kaldorei._ Soffriel blinked at her. She wasn't _kaldorei._ Or not entirely. "Yeah, uh, humans." _She must be used to people staring_. Which didn't make it any more polite.

The woman smiled around delicate tusks and held out a hand. "Peace to ya. I'm Zaphine."

"Soffriel Shadowborn. A pleasure to meet you." He dragged his attention away from her tusks and onto the new battlefield.

The tauren, hammer on his shoulder, stood conversing with his previous human opponent and two others. Soffriel recognized one of them; it was the blond warrior he attacked and wounded during their sparring match the previous week. Shame twisted his conscience.

That shame was doused by a rush of cold horror: Kel'Thuzad's gifts had given Soffriel back his strength and senses- but did nothing to dampen his bloodthirst. For a moment, Soffriel was furious with the lich. _He did this on purpose!_

Soffriel clenched his fists. Of course Kel'Thuzad knew what he had done. Soffriel was more himself, yes, but he was still a Death Knight, still corrupted, still a terrible weapon-

His fury melted. He had been a weapon from the moment he was resurrected. He reached for the feeling of joy.

"Want to put some money on it?" Zaphine was grinning at him. "Seven silvers say the tauren takes the human."

Her smile caught him off guard. "I've seen the Sunwalker fight too many times to bet against him. But I'll wager seven that the human-"

Out the corner of his eye, Soffriel saw movement, recognized danger, and reacted. In a split second, he flung his arm out, inches from Zaphine's face. He wasn't wearing his armour; it was still mostly on the floor of the lab, so the only thing between steel and skin was two layers of shirt sleeve. He and Zaphine sat frozen, both staring at the arrow pierced through his forearm. The two protruding halves were almost even.

"You're quick."

They both flinched as another arrow thwacked into the rock between them.

"Hey, what the hell-?!"

Soffriel was on his feet, eyes locked on the human hunter. He wasn't sparring with the tauren. The tauren was doing his best to keep the hunter's cat at bay while four other humans with weapons closed in on him.

The hunter nocked another arrow.

Soffriel bared his teeth.

Suddenly he realized that aside from the Sunwalker, the only other Horde people in the crowd were a young orc with a top knot, a tauren woman dressed in civilian clothes- and, he supposed, Zaphine. As he watched, a dwarf kicked the orc's knees out from under him and another helped wrestle him face-down to the ground. The tauren woman managed to punch one of the offenders before a group of them descended on her as well.

"Oh, no, no, no!"

Zaphine scrambled off the rock and sprinted toward the prone orc, curled and protecting his head from a flurry of kicks. "You leave dat boy alone!"

Purpley-black fire flared in her hands.

"Step back, I said!"

The group hesitated. The tauren woman broke free during their brief indecision and went to help the orc to his feet. One of the humans closest to her began to reach with a dagger-

Soffriel moved like lightning. He grabbed the man's wrist and bent it up behind his back until he dropped the knife.

"What are you doing?"

"An ambush!" The Sunwalker swung his hammer in a great arc before him, trailing a crescent of golden fire, no longer in mock combat. "Real smooth. Y'all in on it?"

An elderly human woman took a step away from the crowd. "I have no part in this. Shame on you all-"

"Then piss off!"

She gasped and looked between the crowd of ready fighters and the tauren woman with her arm around the orc's shoulders, frozen in shock. Soffriel threw the human aside and moved in front of Zaphine and the tauren as she helped the orc to stand.

"Why are you attacking these people?"

"Why?" The blond warrior stepped up to face Soffriel. "Are you thick? Why do you think? The Horde's attacked us everywhere- their Warchief sundered the Vale in Pandaria and unleashed some evil thing into the world-"

"The Vale?"

"They're everywhere and everywhere they go, they kill and they burn and they take."

The old woman spoke up again. "Don't stoop to their level. This isn't how an honourable member of the Alliance acts."

"Only a coward or a traitor would defend the Horde. Which one are you?"

The woman covered her mouth with one hand, then fled toward the Citadel.

"Coward!"

Now the blond was in Soffriel's face again. "What about you? You're going to stand there with that half-breed _thing_ and tell me they don't deserve some justice?"

Zaphine snarled. " _Half_? No, human. I be the _sum_ of two great people an' this? This is not deserved."

"The Horde have done nothing in Icecrown." Soffriel wasn't carrying his runeblade. He'd left that in the lab too, walked out with nothing but clothes and happiness. "And Icecrown is neutral ground."

"Good thing we're not in the Citadel then."

"Icecrown is the whole area, idiot!" hollered the Sunwalker. "You going to explain to the Lich King why you're breakin' her rules?"

Some of the crowd hesitated again but the blond warrior unsheathed his sword. "There _is_ no neutral ground in Azeroth. Just places where the Horde hasn't attacked yet!"

Someone made a grab for Zaphine or the orc, Soffriel couldn't tell which, and before they could reach their target, his hands were on their throat.

"So you're going to attack people who have done you no harm?" He stared into the eyes of a pale human woman dressed in leathers. She had both hands on his, clawing at his grip. He threw her back into the crowd. "The old woman is right- what you're doing is dishonourable and senseless."

"What's a fiend like you know about honour, huh, Death Knight? How many innocent people have you killed?"

There was a sound like tearing fabric and the Sunwalker burst through the crowd in a blur of gold to stand with Soffriel and Zaphine.

"Hey, troll girl, you a mage?"

"Warlock," Zaphine replied. She said something more in orcish that Soffriel didn't understand.

"Well, shit. How 'bout you, sister? Druid?"

"I- I write romance novels."

"An' you?" He pointed to the orc.

"I'm a tailor."

"Awesome." The Sunwalker gripped his hammer and spoke in orcish again. It didn't sound positive.

Zaphine edged back, touched Soffriel's hand.

"He's going to cover us so we can make a break for the Citadel," she said in Darnassian.

"There's twenty-some of them! He can't fight them all. They'll kill him!"

"Soffriel, they're going to kill _all_ of us-"

The hunter drew and fired from six feet away and the orc fell back, clutching at the arrow in his throat.

"No!" The tauren woman dropped to her knees beside him, but there was nothing she could do. "This is _murder_."

"It's one less orc is what it is."

Soffriel batted another arrow out of the air almost before he realized it was there. "Don't do this. Please."

"I'm done talking."

The blond warrior plunged forward and three other humans accompanied him. The Sunwalker pushed them back, snorted and rushed them. Soffriel found himself facing the rest with no armour and no weapon. The arrow was still stuck through his forearm; he snapped off the pointed half and held it like a dagger. Zaphine moved to stand at his left and the tauren romance novelist moved to stand at his right. Soffriel bared his teeth and, reluctantly, let the scarlet haze rise in his vision.

Then the mob descended on them.

Soffriel's make-shift dagger ended up lodged in someone's ribs and he couldn't pull it out in time before he had to dodge a jabbing polearm. Beside him, Zaphine's hands glowed with sinister light but she was quickly shoved back by a dwarf wielding his shield like a battering ram. Soffriel twisted, grabbed the dwarf by the face, claws tearing through his cheeks, and hurled him against the mob. Zaphine struggled to her feet. The hunter's cat slipped through the crowd and tackled her.

She screamed but Soffriel had both hands full grappling with another assailant.

The tauren woman skidded across the ice to Zaphine's aid, locked an arm around the cat's neck and pulled it backwards. Soffriel glimpsed Zaphine holding one hand against her throat, eyes wide with terror.

He head-butted his opponent, kicked him back, ducked a short sword, twisted away from an axe blow. His claws sank blindly into flesh between hardened leather and chainmail; he tightened his grip, heard a shout of pain, and felt warmth dripping from his fingers.

_Blood._

Someone cried out, maybe his prey, maybe some other. His other hand found a second gap in their armour. His claws hooked into flesh. _Don't let go. Mine now. Make them bleed!_ The person grabbed at his throat but they couldn't choke what didn't draw breath. Soffriel bore his prey to the ground, found their neck, claws sank into heat-

A hard kick slammed into his ribs, not enough to dislodge him. _Finish the kill!_

Rough hands grabbed his shoulders, someone else yanked his hair-

He turned on them, one hand gripping a sword he didn't remember pulling from the body beneath him, the other gripping a wet mess of flesh. The one pulling him by the hair- their wrist was close to his teeth-

Suddenly the air shuddered. The ice reverberated in reply and threw them all to the ground.

For a moment, silence pounded in his ears. Then the ice groaned. It lifted, pushed Soffriel back until he slid up against Zaphine's limp body, divided the group into Alliance and Horde. It broke and buckled beneath the murderous Alliance members. The shards shifted, twisted, grasped with glittering teeth until every one of the attackers was suspended by ankle or hand or neck in freezing bonds over gaping holes in the glacier.

"This is not the answer to your grief."

Ysadéan walked toward them, one hand out-stretched, dainty fingers aglow with soft, green light.

"Earthmother's teeth," breathed the Sunwalker.

"I will release you and you will leave this place. Take your hate and do not return."

The clutching shards reorganized themselves, retreated into the cracks until the glacier was smooth and whole again.

Some of the group rose- those who could- and fell back toward the Citadel. Some remained: dead, injured, stubborn, or gathering their fallen comrades.

"Do not test me," she whispered.

There was a volley of curses but none of the group seemed keen to challenge her. Soffriel and the others watched them leave in silence. When they were gone, Ysadéan slipped into her deer form and sank to the ground.

Soffriel ran to her. "Ysa…!" He knelt, put his arms around her neck, and leaned his cheek against her black fur.

"Uh…"

Zaphine, the Sunwalker, and the romance novelist stared down at them. Zaphine had four deep claw marks across her neck and chest, bleeding freely, but she was standing with the help of the tauren woman.

"So… thank you."

"Earthmother bless you, cousin."

Ysadéan closed her faintly glowing eyes.

"Is she okay?"

"She will be. She needs to rest."

The Sunwalker knelt, gathered a startled Ysadéan in his arms, and picked her up. "We're going to get you some hot soup and a beer. We owe you that much at the least." He set out for the Citadel. "Beer for the deer!"

"I'll be right behind you."

Soffriel turned to the bloody ice. Three of the Alliance attackers lay dead on the glacier, left behind by their brethren. He ignored them and went to the hapless orc tailor. At least his death was swift. That couldn't be said of the human man with a chunk of his throat missing.

Soffriel ignored his bloody claws and gathered the orc in his arms.

* * *

Jaina winced as she pulled her shirt on over her head. Her shoulders ached and her elbows were stiff. She smoothed the fabric with pale fingers. For a moment, she debated her hair; she preferred to put it up and keep it out of the way, especially on a day when she would be doing or at least over-seeing magical work, but her elbows already hurt too much to spend minutes placing pins.

Instead, she combed it out and let it fall loose over her shoulders.

Kel'Thuzad's consciousness brushed hers. She felt urgency in his presence.

**What is it?**

_There's been an incident between some Alliance and Horde._

**What sort of incident?**

_People are dead._

Jaina shook her head. **It was only a matter of time.**

_Agreed._

She picked up her cane and left her bed chamber.

**Who started it?**

_A group of mostly humans._

**Who ended it?**

_Ysadéan. Unexpected but apparently she was quite convincing._

**Did she catch any of the perpetrators?**

_No, but I did._

**Good. I'll be there shortly.**

The Citadel's foyer was a vaulted, cavernous place. Jaina remembered, after Arthas' fall, how some heroes from both sides set up temporary camp in the open space to get out of the winter wind. _Horde and Alliance forget about fighting each other only when attacked by something more urgent._

Kel'Thuzad held three prisoners in an alcove near the front doors of the Citadel. It was once a guard station, partially enclosed, and had not attracted any curious on-lookers so far. With him was Soffriel and the ubiquitous tauren paladin. The left side of the paladin's face was a bloody wreck; his horn hung by shreds of flesh and keratin.

When Jaina stepped inside the alcove, she realized there was also a black-furred deer standing beside the tauren. _Ysadéan._ She had shed both antlers now and was all but invisible in the shadows save for her silvery eyes.

Jaina folded her hands on the head of her cane and looked over the three offenders. Two were human; one was a dwarf. None were unscathed and all of them looked surly.

"Explain."

A bearded human man spoke first. "We were just taking out the trash, Lady Proudmoore."

"Did you start this fight with the intent to kill?"

The man hesitated but the dwarf spoke up. "Hell yes, we did."

"Why?"

"What he said- just taking out the trash."

"Were you unaware that Icecrown is neutral ground?"

The second human muttered something under her breath and the dwarf snorted in reply. Jaina made eye contact and cocked her head but the woman wasn't forthcoming.

Soffriel cleared his throat. "She said 'neutral territory- now we know she isn't part of the Alliance anymore'."

The woman was pale but her stare was pure hatred. "Anywhere the Horde walks isn't neutral. They're warbringers." She flicked her gaze to the tauren paladin. "They're animals."

Jaina watched the woman without speaking for a long moment.

Here, in the company of the varied undead, Jaina was insulated from the constant strife in Azeroth. She didn't forget it- couldn't close her eyes without seeing the ruins of Theramore in her dreams- but she didn't face the stark truth of it on a daily, personal basis.

Azeroth was a deeply divided world. Over and over, the actions of one side sparked retaliation from the other, on old battlegrounds and new shores and each generation passed down their pain, remembered the wrongs done to their forebears by long-dead foes. Revenge became tradition and willful ignorance became history.

It bred people like this woman who thought strangers deserved death because of a red flag.

Jaina was at a loss for words. There could be no dialogue between herself and these people. There was nothing that Jaina could say that would change their minds and there was no explanation that could make her comprehend their actions.

She looked to the dwarf, who glared from beneath lowered brows, and the human man, who turned away from her with disdain.

"Icecrown is neutral ground. If you don't like that-" Jaina stabbed a finger towards the Citadel's entrance. "-there's the door."

Kel'Thuzad released the trio from his holding spell, though Jaina could feel the heavy threat of worse magic waiting in the air.

The bearded man tipped his chin up and sneered. "You're not the person you used to be, _Lady_ Proudmoore."

"No. I'm not."

His expression faltered under her gaze and he joined his co-conspirators in a quick exit.

Jaina let out a deep breath. "How many died?"

"One of ours." The paladin looked to Soffriel. "How many of the others?"

"Three were left on the ice. They took some injured comrades with them."

There was a long silence. Jaina turned to the tauren paladin. "Let me be clear: you are welcome here. If you have thoughts of vengeance, you are not."

The man nodded. "I'm not one for grudges, Lady King." He clapped a hand on Soffriel's shoulder. "C'mon, kid."

Ysadéan dipped her head in a bow and followed them.

Once she was out of ear-shot, Jaina turned to the lich. "What did Ysadéan do out there? She stopped twenty-five people from killing each other. That's not a feat your average druid can manage."

The lich pursed his lips. "The young warlock explained what she saw but… Well. I doubt her account."

"Why?"

"There are two things I know about the Druids of the Antler: they like secrets, and they're obsessed with liminal spaces- the places where edges overlap. The waxing and waning moon, equinoxes, the space between life and death." He raised his eyebrows. "And the places where the Emerald Dream touches the mortal world. Some druids can make small, temporary changes to the Dream."

"You're kidding me."

"I imagine it takes quite some time to learn but Ysadéan is a thousand years old if she's a day. Probably more."

Jaina leaned closer. "You're _kidding_ me!" Then she whispered, "Is she- you've got some experience with dragons. She's not a dragon is she?"

"She's just an old, well-practised druid. I'm guessing she gave the Emerald Dream a little tug and showed the mere mortals a bit of nightmare."

Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "By the Light. It's too early for all of this."

"As you said, this was inevitable."

"No, I meant I need coffee and something to eat."

"Ah. That's much easier to solve."

* * *

There was something a bit _off_ about the atmosphere in the Citadel this morning, but it wasn't intrusive enough to dampen Kinndy's spirit. Today Jaina was going to start teaching her advanced material manipulation. Kinndy was already good at making water from ice and conjuring air currents from water droplets and heat, but now she would learn how to break down material objects into pure energy for new purposes.

First, Kinndy visited the mess hall to grab some breakfast.

"Good morning, Martin!" It was only polite to say hello to the Death Knight, who was idly perusing blueprints for some kind of tesselated floorplan with a squat furry creature she didn't recognize. It had big claws and prominent fangs and Kinndy gave it a wide berth.

"Ysadéan, is that you? Wow, your deer form is beautiful!" Ysadéan didn't shapeshift to return the greeting verbally but she nodded her head and gave a little prance.

"Hi Avarri! Hi Fayla!" Both of them looked unusually serious but replied with smiles. Hmm. Something was definitely up. She would investigate further after today's lessons.

When she got to the lower floor, the door to the lab was open and warm light flooded into the hallway. Kinndy was set to burst into the room with energetic greetings for all (having decided to kill- or at least annoy- Kel'Thuzad with cheerfulness) when she heard someone coughing. It wasn't a 'clearing your throat' or 'mild cold' sort of cough. It was hard, uncontrollable, body-shaking coughing, the sort that made you cry and gag.

And it sounded like Jaina. Finally, the coughing subsided into weak sniffles and a breathy moan of pain.

"Dammit." Jaina rarely swore. "Should've taken… the time-" Small cough. "-to put up my hair." Another sniffle. "Now I've got blood in it."

"Drink." That was Kel'Thuzad.

There was a long silence.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

"From a feral sister who would otherwise let all manner of wilderness nest in her hair."

Jaina's chuckle turned into another small cough.

"Thank you."

Kinndy stayed in the hallway, clutching her staff with both hands. _She sounds so sad._ And the exchange was... Kinndy was sure they didn't know anyone was listening. _Okay Kinndy: you have two choices._

She took a deep breath and walked into the room.

"Jaina? Are you okay?"

Jaina looked up from where she was hunched over a steaming mug of peppermint tea. Her hair was in pretty milkmaid braids that circled her head like a crown and her cheeks were wet.

"Oh, Kinndy." She scrubbed the heel of her hand across one cheek. "I- No. I'm not okay."

Kinndy's heart dropped.

"What happened?"

Jaina sat up and Kinndy saw how much effort it took. She swallowed a sip of the tea before answering and grimaced.

"The Lich King's power is not meant for a living bearer, and I cannot carry it forever."

"What do you mean 'not forever'? Are you- please tell me what's happening." Kinndy rushed to her side and held onto her elbow. "Please."

Jaina laid her hand over Kinndy's. "It wants me undead." She squeezed Kinndy's fingers. "It's killing me."

For a second, Kinndy was struck mute. "Can I- can someone- Is there something- is there anything-?"

"There's not." She glanced at Kel'Thuzad. "Nothing but little things."

"If there's any little thing- _anything-_ I can do-"

Jaina smiled and it was a little less sad than her voice. "I want you to be the best mage you can possibly be."

Kinndy's cheeks flushed with anger. Tears rolled over her eyelashes. "Then why didn't you tell me? _Why did you agree to teach me?_ If you told me- if you told me I would've-"

Jaina took both of her hands and looked her in the eye. "I lied to myself. I wanted to believe that I would recover."

Kinndy squeezed her eyes shut and gripped Jaina's fingers. "You should have told me."

"I am so sorry-"

"Because I would've come _sooner!_ I could've been with you _months_ ago! And it would've saved me making up excuses and trying to make myself believe in them because when I saw you? When I was with Roxie? I _knew_." She threw herself into a hug and pressed her face into the fur trim on Jaina's tunic. "I really tried to convince myself it was a bad idea. But if you told me-!"

She pushed away from Jaina.

"What else aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing." Jaina dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. "Wait. There's one more thing. I was going to tell you today anyway."

Kinndy braced herself.

"I have another apprentice. Well, _half_ an apprentice I suppose. I'll be teaching both of you the basics of higher magic, but he will be otherwise trained by Kel'Thuzad."

Kinndy had forgotten about the lich. She whirled- yup, he was still in the room. At least he had the decorum to seclude himself in the chair by the stove as far from them as he could be.

"Hold up. _He_ has an apprentice? _Him?_ You're letting him-"

"Yes."

"...is that a good idea?"

"That remains to be seen."

Kinndy glanced from Kel'Thuzad's back to Jaina's plaited hair. "Okay. But I've got my eye on him."

Jaina muffled a snicker.

"My makeup is all smudged." Kinndy rubbed a spot of sparkly pink on her sleeve, slightly darker than the fabric. "Do I have time to go clean up before our lessons?"

"Yes, of course."

Kinndy got herself cleaned up but she barely remembered the walk from the lab and back. She arrived to warmth and the smell of old books; the ideal picture of scholarly comfort. And, despite Jaina's revelation, it _was_ perfect. Somehow Kinndy felt more relaxed now than she had since her arrival at the Citadel.

She walked up to the desk. "Here. I brought you a muffin. A little thing. I think they're apple today."

Jaina beamed. "Thank you."

"No muffin for me?"

"Um... you don't eat. I mean, unless do you?"

"Not this morning, apparently."

At that moment, there was a soft knock on the doorframe.

Jaina beckoned. "Perfect timing, Soffriel."

Kinndy turned and recognized the man. She had seen him around the Citadel, usually with Ysadéan but sometimes with Brok and Avarri. He always looked a little lost and kept to himself.

"It's nice to meet you." Kinndy held out her hand. Held it _up;_ he was more than twice her height. He came closer and Kinndy fought the urge to back away. All the Death Knights made her nervous and here was an extra-tall one, dressed all in black with a few pieces of pointy armour, long white hair, glowing eyes, and an inscrutable expression.

"Kinndy, this is Soffriel Shadowborn. Soffriel, Kinndy Sparkshine."

Soffriel hesitated, then crouched and took her hand.

"Hello."

His voice raised the hair on the back of her neck.

"Er, is it rude for me to kneel down? I've met very few gnomes."

Sure, the echo-y part of his voice was creepy but other than that it was soft and calm.

"No, it's fine. It's not rude at all."

He made an expression that might have been the beginning of a smile.

Jaina handed each of them a notebook. "Let's begin. Now, before we get into the technicalities of material manipulation today, we're going over ethical uses of magic."

Kinndy and Soffriel both turned to look at Kel'Thuzad.

"Not my strongest subject. I'll be getting a muffin."

* * *

Long after Kinndy and Soffriel left, Kel'Thuzad returned to the lab. It was dark; the stove held only embers and the lanterns had burned out. In the gloom, the slightest light suggested the shapes of furniture and spines of books on the shelves.

He halted. Before him was a patch of black so thorough that it stood out from the mere darkness around him.

"I misjudged you."

The black shape unfolded into a woman dressed in white robes and a fringed veil. "All predators do."

"Clever. What do you want?"

Ysadéan turned away. Despite her layered robes, she made not a sound. "Sometimes, when the night is dark enough, I can still see the stars. When winter is upon Icecrown, I will be able to see the stars again. I want only a warm place where I may wait for the night."

"And what else?"

"To see that my offering was not made in vain."

Kel'Thuzad could only see where her fingers trailed along the edge of the desk because her skin was darker than the shadowed wood. The white of her sleeve seemed blinding.

"What do _you_ want, my child?"

"What I want doesn't trouble you."

"Humour my curiosity."

Kel'Thuzad watched her fingers find the cold metal of the Helm of Domination where it rested on a pedestal beside the desk.

"Freedom."

She picked up the Helm. "What will you do with it?" The armour looked strange in her hands- contrived and small.

"Enjoy it."

"How?"

"Freely."

She turned toward him, the swinging fringe a brief bright crescent over her smoky eyes. "You have no idea what you want. You have nowhere to go. You have no one. You have no power and nothing to reach for beyond the obvious."

"Ouch."

She ran one finger down the edges of the Helm, edges that had branded Jaina's cheeks. "When was the last time you were truly happy?"

Kel'Thuzad went to light the stove. "Right before I found you in here."

"Kel'Thuzad." Somehow, she broke his name into its basic parts with her tone of voice, changed it from his own special word to a generic description. _Son of autumn ice. A foundling's name; an orphan's name._ "Do not be afraid of small pleasures."

He turned around to see her replace the Helm on its pedestal. "Small pleasures are all I have, _Malorne'adin_."

"So would your freedom offer greater pleasures?"

"It depends on the price."

"Then be satisfied with what you have."

She moved to the door, slipped into her deer form, and left without a sound.

* * *

Jaina didn't feel the cold- it was the one aspect of the Lich King's powers that she actively enjoyed. The days were getting colder. She sat on the roof of the Citadel and watched the sun set. It stayed far enough below the horizon now that real night had begun to take hold, at least for a few hours. The stars would come out in handfuls as the sky darkened. At the deepest part of night, the starlight was bright enough to make shadows.

At the moment though, Jaina was content to appreciate the sunset.

Just as her mind began to wander, the air prickled and sparked, and then there was a soundless _crack_ that frizzed the ends of her hair. She knew a portal when she felt one, and found the source just as the visitors began to look around.

They were shrewd; the portal deposited them at the foot of the stone stairs leading to the Citadel's front entrance.

Jaina stood at the top of the stairway, hands folded atop her cane.

"I don't like sudden nighttime visitors wearing hooded cloaks," she said. "Name yourselves and the reason for your presence."

The shorter of the pair put back his hood. It was Khadgar.

"Apologies for our cryptic arrival, Lady Proudmoore. The fewer eyes that might find us here, the better for all. May we come in?"

She watched the taller of the pair. Pointed ears made their hood flare and one green glowing eye returned her stare.

"You may."

She bid the guardians open the doors and stood aside as the pair entered. Then she cast a barrier around the three of them, to keep out of sight and mute their voices.

The other person lowered his hood to reveal blond hair and the collar of a scarlet shirt.

"I am Lor'themar Theron, Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas."

Jaina made a shallow bow. "Welcome to Icecrown, Regent Lord. To what do I owe this clandestine honour, gentlemen?"

Lor'themar stepped forward. "It is a lack of honour that brings us to you, Lich King. Garrosh Hellscream no longer leads with the best interest of the Horde in mind. He has only _his_ interests."

"I've heard there is some unrest among the Horde."

Khadgar said nothing but Jaina saw him raise an eyebrow.

"Unrest, yes. But nothing overt until now."

"And now?"

"Now Vol'jin, Chieftain of the Darkspear trolls, stands in open defiance of Hellscream's rule. Hellscream's Kor'kron attack the Darkspear people as we speak." A muscle twitched in Lor'themar's jaw. "I will not see one madman drive his people to ruin. Again."

Jaina's pulse quickened. "A rebellion?"

"Yes." Lor'themar's one good eye fixed on her. "You have fought beside the Horde before. Thrall still considers you a friend and Highlord Saurfang speaks well of you. I am here to ask for your aid."

Jaina's mind jumped back to the day of Theramore's destruction. So many small details were etched in her memory: the heat of the magic-blasted ground beneath her feet, Kinndy's hand holding hers as she asked for apprenticeship, the consuming guilt- and Anu'Shukhet's deep purr as she spoke.

" _...If their leaders push them in a direction they do not wish to go, they too will find new allies. And if they do, that is your chance to rise, my friend."_

"Yes," said Jaina. "Yes, I will aid you."

_It's time to rise._


	9. Uprising

Content warning: graphic violence, mentions of torture

* * *

“Is she your mom?”

“Ysadéan? No.”

Soffriel was twice Kinndy’s height but somehow he was the one hurrying to keep up.

“She seems mom-like.”

He dodged around a pair of orcs that Kinndy greeted by name. “She is chosen family but also... there’s no word for it in Common. A spiritual guide, perhaps.”

“What’s she guiding you to?”

He’d known Kinndy for all of two days. “Er…”

“Is that too personal?”

“No. I’m thinking on how to explain it. She’s not guiding me  _ to  _ anything. Think of it as… she’s guiding me  _ through. _ That’s what they do.”

“The deer druids?”

“Yes. They help people move between things.”

“So she’s helping you go from Death Knight to necromancer?”

“Not… no.”

Kinndy hopped down the steps. “How did you meet?”

Kinndy had already shared the major facts of her life on the way from mess hall to sub-basement. No one had asked Soffriel this many personal questions since- His memory was hazy but probably since never.

“We met while I was still a Death Knight. One of Arthas’ Death Knights.” He hesitated. “I attacked her.”

Kinndy gasped. “That’s ter- I mean, you weren’t really you, so it doesn’t count. Right?”

“No, it counted. I tried to kill her.”

“And she got away, obviously.” 

“Yes.”

Soffriel remembered it in blurry pieces- the colours of autumn in the Plaguelands- a deluge of half-remembered rhymes-  _ wicked seeds in sacred ground-  _ and dread when the deer stood up and faced him. He had never met one of her kind but immediately knew what she was.

He urged his death charger after her because he was a Death Knight and she was a woman trespassing. It was his job-

The undead horse spooked beneath him. That was impossible. Death Chargers didn’t spook. Except for his, when he tried to ride her down and the horse reared, pawed the air with cracked hooves, then slid on wet leaves and mud. Soffriel pitched out of the saddle. The horse rolled over him, struggled to its feet, and galloped away.

She stood above him, clothed in white like a wraith. Her antlers were coming out of velvet, strips of bloody flesh hanging from the tines, the new bone crimson in the moonlight.

_ Blood. _

Soffriel lunged. She barely moved, turned aside just so, and kept on while he scrambled after her. Whether he swung at her with his runeblade or lashed her with magic, she moved by a hairs breadth and left him stumbling, or gestured and his magic snuffed out.

_ “What is your name, child?” _

_ “Soffriel!” _

He spoke before he processed her question and then, taking only his name, she grew tired of the fight and fled.

“Yes, she got away.”

“It’s amazing you found each other again.”

“She found me. She came to Acherus to find me.”

“Why?”

Soffriel halted; he pricked up his ears and swivelled his gaze down the hall.

Kinndy looked up at him. “What?”

“Magic,” he said. “Something powerful. But also… muffled?”

They stood in the hallway, perplexed. Then Kinndy squeaked and whirled to face him, pink eyes wide.

“Ohmygod it’s the spellcage!” 

She took off toward the lab. He followed.

The moment he arrived, he saw what Kinndy meant. There was a dome of wards active in the middle of the lab, a barrier that excluded delicate objects and all of the furniture and books. Inside, Jaina and Kel’Thuzad faced each other in the midst of a complicated mandala of glowing blue-green lines. Jaina offered her hand and Kel’Thuzad took it. 

The instant they touched, currents of power exploded outwards, thrashed against the walls of the spellcage, churned around them like a hurricane. Their eyes blazed, bleeding light, free magic running off them in torrents.

Soffriel took a step back. Kinndy gasped and took a step forward.

There was a burst of light and a disc of rotating lines and symbols appeared behind Jaina, where one would carry a shield on their back. The spellcage did nothing to dim the massive power coursing through the slowly spinning array. 

They let go of each other and the shield array continued to spin. Power built and built until Soffriel feared the spellcage would shatter, then Jaina and Kel’Thuzad gestured simultaneously and the spell faded.

The wards retreated into faint lines on the floor.

“What! Was! That!” Kinndy was vibrating in place.

"A successful experiment." Kel'Thuzad dusted his hands together.

"What kind of experiment? That was amazing! What does the spell do? It looked like a- like a- hmm. Like the foundation for prolonged spellcasting- no. Not quite. Tell me, please? Please?”

Soffriel watched Jaina. The power had not retreated from her entirely; it flowed down her spine in a faint glow, pooled at the small of her back, looped over her hips, and criss-crossed her legs all the way to her feet. It was passive but not  _ inactive _ , and it felt familiar. Now he understood his instinct to retreat from the spell.

“It  _ is _ a foundation,” he said. “A place for other magicks to attach.”

Kinndy turned round. “Oh! Like a notebook.”

Soffriel blinked. “...no.”

“What? No, it is. Like this.” She pulled a little notebook (pink, of course) out of her pocket and held it up. “See?”

He flipped through the pages. Kinndy’s notebook was bespelled with a clever cantrip that recorded not only the words and figures that described spells but also the  _ sense  _ of them. It captured a lingering realness, a whisper of the actual magic, even when Kinndy didn’t fully understand the components. She described them as scents and flavours but they stood out to him in swirls of light and colour.

“This is beautiful.”

“I can show you how to make one, if you want.”

He looked from the book to Jaina. “Yes, I would like that.”

“Hey, we can figure this out together. We know it’s a foundation. But for what…” Kinndy was walking around the edge of the spellcage, squinting at the faint lines.

“It’s not on the floor.” Soffriel pointed to Jaina. “She’s wearing it.”

Kinndy chewed her lip in thought. “Okay, it’s like... a harness?”

“No,” said Kel’Thuzad. “A harness implies that Jaina will be the one doing work when it activates.”

“I meant a harness like- I don’t know what you call that stuff. Soffriel? The harness thing on your back where you put your sword? What’s that called?”

“Scabbard.”

“Yeah, a harness for holding a weapon.”

Jaina shook her head. “Not quite.”

They both studied her in silence for a few moments.

Soffriel saw that Jaina was standing easily without her cane just as Kinndy snapped her fingers.

“It  _ supports _ ! That’s why I thought it was a foundation spell.”

“Good work!”

“I can’t make out the rest of it but I still think it’s like a scabbard. It’s carrying  _ something _ .”

Jaina rolled her sleeves down. “Not yet. It has the ability to carry something other than myself but we’re still testing that aspect. Best not to get ahead of ourselves.”

Soffriel caught a quick glance between Jaina and Kel’Thuzad. She was still smiling.

“That’s so cool. Can you wear it all the time?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Kinndy’s eyes sparkled. “So cool...” 

Her babble of enthusiasm and the puzzle of the spell had temporarily distracted Soffriel from the mental tumult that kept him pacing for half the night.

“Jaina? Can I speak to you? Privately?”

“Of course.” She waved him toward the corner of the room furthest from the stove, with a soft couch and a stack of books on the floor beside it. “What is it?”

He straightened his shoulders. “I broke my vow to you.” He closed his eyes.

There was a moment of silence, punctuated by a squeak of  _ “ew!”  _ from Kinndy across the room and a snort from Kel’Thuzad.

Then Jaina took his hand. “Soffriel, sit with me.”

He sat. His hands were shaking.  _ How can that be?  _ The undead didn’t suffer the involuntary physical effects of emotion.  _ Except… _ He flicked his gaze to Kel’Thuzad.  _ Of course. _

“There is a difference between killing in defense when you have no choice and killing with malicious intent.”

“But-”

“If you want to get specific, you vowed to do no harm to the living with necromancy.”

“Yes, but-”

“And you didn’t do that. You acted in defense of not only yourself- Soffriel. Look at me.”

He met her eyes.

“You could have stepped aside and let that group of ignorant people kill others who did them no wrong. You’re a night elf- you’re Alliance. That mob wouldn’t have touched you. Probably insulted you if you didn’t join in, but they would have left you alone. But you didn’t even pause. Zaphine told me what you did. You didn’t hesitate to do the right thing, even though you  _ knew  _ what stepping into a fight would cost you. You didn’t break your vow.”

“I feel like I did.”

Jaina folded her hands in her lap. “I know a thing or two about misplaced guilt. I think about Theramore a lot. I think about how I could have aided them, how I... I didn’t know about the attack until it was over.”

Her tone was filled with a familiar shame.

“There was nothing I could do but I will feel helpless if I ever have to look one of Theramore’s people in the eye.”

Soffriel’s gaze inevitably wandered to her scars.  _ Marks of trials overcome.  _ “I should be able to fight it.”

“Have you practised?”

“I… No. I don’t know how.”

“The way to practise is to put yourself in a similar situation and teach yourself a different way to respond.”

“That would put someone else at risk of injury.”

“There are some who wouldn’t be at risk.”

Soffriel’s eyes widened. “No, Jaina, you-”

“Me? No. Anu’Shukhet.”

“Oh. Uh…” He thought back to his one embarrassment of a fight with the Nerubian commander. It lasted about twenty seconds and that was only because it took him nineteen seconds to get within reach of her. “Good point.”

“In the future I want you to be able to fight at my side, or Kinndy’s, without fear of yourself.”

“I will.”

“You will.” She smiled. “May I ask- do you feel that you must put yourself to rights with Elune?”

“Ysadéan said the same as you- that I did not break my vow. But I feel… You understand. Meditation helps.” He paused. “Elune has a place for me.”

“Good. I’ll arrange for a proper introduction between you and Anu’Shukhet. Tell her what you need. She gives good advice.”

“Advice?”

“Good advice.”

“She speaks?”

“Yes, she speaks.”

“Then I will listen.”

Jaina nodded. “Now, shall we go save Kinndy from whatever your teacher has chosen to horrify her with today?”

Soffriel looked over. “Ah. The jar of rats.”

“It says something about my life that I’m more surprised a jar that big exists rather than the fact someone filled it with dead rats.” 

“Well. You do live with…  _ him _ .”

“Yes,” she sighed, “yes I do.”

When she stood, the support spell glowed briefly around her knees and flickered as she crossed the room.

Kinndy scampered to her side. “What’re we doing today?”

“That depends. Right now, we’re waiting for Archmage Khadgar.”

“Khadgar’s joining us?”

“Not exactly. Unfortunately, Azeroth cares nothing for our studies.” Jaina straightened her robes. “I am joining Khadgar, the Regent-Lord of Quel’Thalas, and the Horde rebels to re-take Orgrimmar from Hellscream.”

“You’re- I’m sorry,  _ what _ ? Are we- can we come with you?”

“That is up to you.”

Kinndy clenched her hands into fists. “Yes! Absolutely!”

“If anything goes wrong, I will send you back to the Citadel. And you  _ must  _ go. No arguments.”

“I promise. No arguments.”

Jaina turned. “Soffriel?”

He shook his head. “I am not ready to face battle as anything other than a Death Knight and I don’t want to do that.”

“All right. Kinndy, Khadgar will meet us at the eyrie. You’ll go with him.”

“I can’t go with you?”

Jaina hesitated. “I don’t want to put you in undue danger.”

“And you’re doing something unduly dangerous.”

“Potentially.”

Soffriel looked to Kel’Thuzad. “Will you be joining Jaina?”

“Only if things go desperately wrong.”

* * *

Khadgar was punctual. He hummed with magic and had the look of someone who drank one coffee too many that morning.

“Lor’themar has rallied an invasion fleet and brought an army of willing fighters with him. King Anduin has returned from Pandaria and brought part of the Stormwind armada. He sends pleasant regards. Unfortunately, though Vol’jin’s people have pressed forward to the city gates, Hellscream’s soldiers have them stymied. They’ve been unable to take the harbour so our ships can’t deliver back-up. We’re sitting just outside cannon range.”

He unfolded a small map and they studied it together. 

Jaina remembered the shape of the Durotar coast, the docks of Bladefist Bay, the red dust.

“I will go alone through a portal to scout the best approach. Once I see what we’re up against, I’ll place a series of portals to get the armies to the beach.” 

Khadgar pointed to an area on the map. “It’ll be a rough fight once we’re through. The beach is held by Dragonmaw orcs and, as you might expect, they have a flock of stunningly ugly proto-drakes with them. There’s also some enormous mechanical thing near the gates. It hasn’t moved yet but when it does, I expect it will be a problem.”

Jaina let her gaze unfocus into the distance for a moment. There were two frostwyrms clinging to the towers of the Citadel, idle and bored- and Caligion, napping in the mountain cliffs nearby.

“What are you thinking?”

“My strength is positioning our allies with portals but I can also bring some air support.”

“Excellent!” Khadgar folded the map. “Let’s not keep our King and Regent-Lord waiting.”

Jaina took a moment to mentally prepare the portal spell and raised her hand to begin casting.

“Pardon me, Lady King-”

Jaina turned to find Zaphine, dressed in robes of layered black and gold, a staff in her hands.

“My father fights wi’ the Darkspear,” she said. “Please, let me come and find him, to fight at his side.”

“Of course.”

“I’d like to be there as well.” That was Kagra, eyes narrowed, barely holding back a snarl. “I didn’t die for  _ Hellscream’s  _ Horde.”

“Okay.” Jaina squinted toward the eyrie entrance. “...who else wants to come?”

A group of about twenty people, led by the tauren paladin, walked out onto the platform.

“All right then.”

Jaina called Caligion to the eyrie, climbed aboard his neck, and opened the first portal.

“The next portal I open will take you to battle. Prepare yourselves!”

Caligion spread his wings and they sprang through into chaos.

The air was full of proto-drakes, arrows, fire, balls of burning pitch flung into the swarm of dragons and against the walls of Orgrimmar. From her vantage, Jaina saw the line held by Vol’jin’s rebels, stoic but unable to advance against Hellscream’s black-armoured Kor’kron, and another group she guessed were the Dragonmaw clan.

Caligion made a deep growl. Jaina patted the back of his skull.

**Soon enough. Portals first.**

They swooped along the coastline, lower and lower, and some of the Dragonmaw changed targets. Jaina put up a pair of shields to either side of herself; spears and arrows ricocheted harmlessly off of Caligion’s skeletal form. She marked a line along the beach, tiny spells waiting for a trigger, placing them behind the cannons and catapults that threatened to assail the invasion fleet. Three of the proto-drakes broke away from the flock swirling above the battle and winged toward them.

Jaina gauged the distance to the waiting fleet.

**Ready...**

Caligion circled once above the masts of the frustrated invasion and Jaina marked the deck of every ship.

Among the fleet, she picked out Lor’themar’s green eye among the up-turned faces on a crowded ship. Caligion hovered, buoyed by the unnatural magic that animated him, and Jaina jumped the short distance to the deck.

**Go have fun.**

He pushed away with a gust of wind from tattered wings and made for the trio of proto-drakes with a roar of challenge.

Lor’themar, the crew, and the small army gathered on deck all stared with mixed caution and impatience.

“Lady Proudmoore. A pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise, Regent-Lord.”

He raised his hands, fingertips sparkling with expectant magic. “Allow me to join your casting.”

“Much appreciated.”

Jaina wove threads of magic between each marker on the shore and the deck of each ship; one pull and they would flare to life. She waited a heartbeat, glanced at Lor’themar, and remembered she needed to offer him a hold on that thread so he could participate in the spell.

“Ah. It’s been a moment since I cast in tandem with someone.”  _ Someone other than Kel’Thuzad. This is much easier with telepathy.  _ “Ready?”

They pulled.

* * *

Everything happened so fast it felt like one busy moment. Suddenly, Kinndy was on the deck of a sailing ship- a  _ Horde _ sailing ship!- with Khadgar on one side of her, Jaina on the other, and a whole assembly of angry strangers with weapons.

Jaina’s eyes were lit with an eerie blue glow and a handful of portals burst open in quick succession, snapping into existence with a sound like a string of very loud firecrackers.

Before Kinndy’s brain caught up with the last three seconds,  _ more  _ armed figures- adventurers, of course, and soldiers too- boiled up from the lower decks and rushed through the portal.

Jaina put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay with me.”

A roar and clamour rose up from the beach and Kinndy realized it was the noise of frenzied battle, weapons on weapons, on shields and armour and flesh, and the snarls, curses, screams of the people wielding weapons.

Then there was a much louder roar, an animal cry of fury, and Kinndy looked up. One of the proto-drakes swept down toward the battlefield and for a second Kinndy thought it would breathe fire on everyone below, friend or foe. But there was a rider on its back and Kinndy saw them tug the reins. The drake roared in what seemed like protest and turned, snorting bursts of flame, toward a siege tower bristling with glints of steel. Kinndy saw a flash of silver dart out from the tower- an arrow or spear- which the drake dodged and then it was on the tower with teeth, claws, and weight. The structure collapsed beneath it, amid muffled screams.

“There were people in there!”

One of the other towers fired, but the drake shook off the projectile and rose back into the sky, turning toward the offending tower.

“Oh no-”

Another roar cut across the battlefield, almost like the drake but rattling with the hoarse rasp of undeath.

A frostwyrm came out of the sun, not in a full dive, but steeply enough that it quickly overtook the drake. The two dragons collided, claws first. They grappled in mid air, a thrashing ball of tails, wings, and bursts of fire- red and blue- until the frostwyrm’s speed carried them to the ground. A plume of red sand mushroomed up from their impact and then there was more thrashing, roars and snarls that turned to screeches, then yelps, then silence. The dust settled. The frostwyrm reared up and bellowed in triumph.

Kinndy took a deep breath. “Tell me what to do.”

“Place your shields. Take your time- I have us protected. You’ll learn to do it faster with practise.”

“Okay, got it.” 

The spell on Jaina’s back glowed faintly; the lines and symbols turned in languid circles and Kinndy got a sense of  _ patience. _ “We’re acting in a support capacity until Khadgar calls on us.”

Kinndy watched Jaina’s hands. She was so  _ fast _ . Sigils flickered on her fingertips, single figures that each described a waiting spell, pre-written, and aimed with the smallest gesture. They were mostly shields, cast over injured soldiers helping each other rise, between a priest and an orc bearing down on him with a raised axe, and one beneath Brok’s hoof to steady his balance as he took a blow on his armoured forearm.

The thick of the battle moved towards the huge black gates of the Horde capital and it left carnage in its wake. Kinndy remembered the animal carcasses placed in the room where she was learning battle magic and swallowed hard, trying not to look at anything for too long.

A group of people joined them; Kinndy recognized several of them from the eyrie, including Zaphine.

“Have you found your father?”

“No, Lady King. I expect he be in the very heart of the fight.” There was pride in her voice.

They followed the changing battle lines and Kinndy realized they were helping the rebellion push forward by providing a safe rearguard.  _ Support! _

Without warning, the line of defense in front of them broke. Both Kor’kron and the invasion force scattered as something huge plowed a rut in the dirt. Jaina spread her arms wide and a series of overlapping shields appeared in front of their little troop.

The disturbance was a writhing mass of snarling dragons. Kinndy counted three of the proto-drakes and the biggest of the frostwyrms in the brawl. The drakes grappled, bit and hung on, jaws fracturing icy bones. The frostwyrm thrashed, turned its fangs and talons on one then another of its assailants, tearing furrows into their scaly hide. One of the drakes attempted to drag itself out of the melee, bleeding from too many wounds, but the big frostwyrm pulled it back in even as the other two began prying bones free from the skeletal monster.

The injured drake shuddered and fell still, but the other two tore into the frostwyrm, yanking out chunks of misty magic and splinters of bone.

The spell on Jaina’s back flared. She brought the heels of her hands together, fingers crooked toward the fight and three concentric circles of cold blue light appeared within her grasp.

The mandala opened, the outer edge now studded with one sigil repeated over and over, and just as Kinndy recognized the spell, the frostwyrm gave up its struggles and flattened itself against the ground. Jaina made a sharp inhale and the outer ring spun, spitting frostbolts in a repeating spiral pattern that tore through flesh and bone. The two remaining proto-drakes were reduced to chunks of red muck.

The spell wound down, the rings closed between Jaina’s hands, and vanished with a twinkle of ice.

The frostwyrm sat up, shook itself, and made a cheerful bark.

Jaina lowered her arms. Her hands were trembling and the support spell glowed up and down her body, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Lady King?”

“I’m all right. It’s a new spell. I’m not quite used to it yet.”

Kinndy dropped her gaze to the ground. Jaina was lying. Even with magic to help her stand and move, her body was in the grip of the Lich King’s power.

She didn’t lose control of the shields though. They never wavered until the group was ready to move forward again.

Khadgar appeared in front of them in a bolt of light.

“Remember the big machine I mentioned that might be a problem? It’s a problem. Come on.”

And all of a sudden, they weren’t the rearguard anymore. They were part of the battle. Kinndy stuck to Jaina’s hip like a burr. It was all too fast to follow. This was why mages prepared spells to activate with a single sigil or gesture before going into battle. Kinndy couldn’t keep up with the flurry of light and spinning arrays, in the air, on the ground; Jaina and Khadgar were casting separately, then together, then separately again.

The battle was beside, in front, all around them. Flashes of blades in the corner of her vision, the smell of shattered spells- Kinndy held her own shields steady, though she was aware that both Jaina and Khadgar were protecting their small group. The shields abruptly expanded and the blood elf from the ship joined them. He was drenched in high elven magic, bitter scarlet and honey gold, and if Kinndy hadn’t been surrounded by a whirlwind of death, she would have clapped with glee as the three mages plunged into a triple cast.

And then, as quickly as things turned manic, they returned to relative calm. 

They had pushed through and divided Hellscream’s defenders. It was more the legions of adventurers around them than Jaina’s group who deserved the bulk of the credit, Kinndy admitted, but three awesome mages certainly helped. She couldn’t tell friendly orcs from enemy orcs, so she took her cues from those around her. The Horde people didn’t seem to have any trouble knowing who was who and since none of them were fighting each other, Kinndy cautiously dubbed this pause a victory.

There were still a clutch of proto-drakes overhead and the remains of the splintered Orgrimmar defense were regrouping, but the invasion force seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

“Oh hell,” said the blood elf.

Kinndy peered between the crush of bodies. 

The machine looked like a giant, armoured scorpion. It was spanned the breadth of the city gates, belched fire and smoke, and as Kinndy watched a group of adventurers cautiously provoke the thing, it razed one of them to cinders with a focused beam of fire.

There was a pause, then yelling from the frontline, what sounded like a shouted conversation between two furious voices that Kinndy didn’t quite catch.

“That went well,” said Khadgar.

Jaina leaned closer to him. “You know, we could just…” She made some covert threatening gestures toward the gate. “...from here.”

“I think you’d have to get to the back of a rather long line for the opportunity.”

Khadgar’s words were endorsed by a variety of things hurled toward the top of the gate by the closest adventurers.

The armoured scorpion sputtered and raised itself up. Blades whirred. Black smoke began to obscure the gates and adventurers threw themselves into the new battle.

“We must get to the gate! While that thing is distracted!”

“We have no weapons to open the gates- Hellscream was right about that part.”

“I’ll pry those doors open with my bare hands if I have to...”

Orgrimmar’s defenders were recovering, drawing new lines against the now-divided attention of the invasion, and Kinndy realized that by pushing through Hellscream’s army, they had only bought themselves a two-fronted battle.

Kinndy tugged Jaina’s sleeve to get her attention. “What about the frostwyrms? Can they go over the walls or bust open the gates?”

“They’re busy with the drakes. And they’re outnumbered.”

“You or Khadgar- or you  _ and  _ Khadgar could bust the gates.”

“Yes, but this is a siege. We don’t know how long it will take or what else Hellscream has waiting for us once we’re inside. A long, uncertain battle is as exhausting for a mage as it is for a physical warrior. We get tired, lose focus, our responses slow, and prolonged casting wears down the effectiveness of spells.”

“Right, entropy. I forgot about that. So… what do we do?”

Jaina gestured to the people around them. “Work together. It’s why adventurers are so successful at their business. They overlap their strengths until there is no weakness.”

Kinndy glanced toward the smoke-swamped battleground in front of the gates. The metal scorpion was missing a claw now, though there was another singed corpse in the dust.

“What are you best at?”

Kinndy looked up. “Figuring things out. Magic is like- well it’s like  _ that- _ ” She pointed to the mechanical scorpion. “It has parts that fit together and make bigger things. I’m best at figuring out the parts. I don’t think that’s very useful here though.”

“It  _ is _ . If you can figure out how something is put together, you can figure out how to take it apart. Taking things apart- be that spells or physical objects- is incredibly useful in battle.”

“I never thought about it like that.” She looked around them. “We, uh, we do need to do something though.”

Khadgar incinerated something with a blast of arcane magic and rocked back on his heels. “Do something we shall. That machine needs to die.”

“Kinndy, do you feel confident using that fireball spell?”

“Really?! Now? Super confident!”

For the first time in her life, Kinndy raised her staff in battle.

* * *

The group of adventurers had hammered and taunted the mechanical nightmare until it was backed against the city gates. They had nowhere to go but forward until Khadgar shouted them back.

Jaina gave the feedback loop spell just a nudge and readied herself. She glanced down to Kinndy.

“Ready?”

“Give the word.”

The machine jolted forward, either pursuing the fleeing adventurers or perhaps piloted by someone with the awareness that adventurers did not flee without good reason.

“Jaina?”

She nodded and Khadgar grabbed her hand.

Jaina closed her other hand into a fist. It felt different casting with Khadgar than it did with Kel’Thuzad or her brief touch with Lor’themar and it was more than just the lack of telepathy. Khadgar’s magic was different; arcane but a little bit alien, an undercurrent of  _ otherness _ . 

_ A taste of Outland. _

Alien or not, they shared a basic understanding and when she forced the heat out of the air around the machine’s legs, his strength supported hers.

_ What must I feel like to him? _

Frost rimed the mechanical joints. The scorpion creaked. Jaina pulled the spell tighter, snuffing all heat out of the air, out of the metal. With an object so hot it was physically draining to maintain the spell and, inevitably, her memory flashed back to the last time she had wrung the living heat out of metal.

“You’re nothing compared to Deathwing,” she whispered and slivers of ice crept under layers of armour and between the teeth of gears.

The scorpion ground to a halt. The chimney coughed a tiny jet of ice fog.

“ _ Now. _ ”

Beside her, Kinndy launched a fireball that had a respectable amount of heat and mass. She was joined by dozens of adventurers and the moment that the volley contacted the frozen scorpion, it exploded. Between the invasion force and the machine, a line of priests and paladins laid their shields. The shockwave rebounded off the glowing wall back onto the wreck, which, being goblin-made, erupted in secondary and tertiary explosions that blew it against the gates of Orgrimmar with a resonant  _ bang _ , followed by a creak, and a ray of light between the doors.

Kinndy squealed and jumped up and down. “That was amazing! That was  _ amazing _ ! Oh, I could really start to like blowing things up!”

“We’ll probably have more opportunities. To the gates!”

The Kor’kron and Dragonmaw pursued them but the invasion force had a single, collective goal. Nevertheless, Jaina whirled, flicking shields between as many moments of  disaster she could see.

She caught a glimpse of gold and blue, blond hair, and the radiance of a priest. She smiled.  _ Anduin! _

The vanguard of the invasion slammed into the gates and if there were defenders resisting their strength, it wasn’t enough. The single ray of light between the doors spread, became a flood of red afternoon sun, and the army raised their voice in one cry of triumph.

Jaina checked that Kinndy was at her side and ran.

There were defenders, of course, but the combined might of the army outmatched them. A hundred small fights broke out around them- before and behind- frantic on the part of Hellscream’s troops, fueled by victorious fervor in the invaders.

Orgrimmar was a city but it was also a fortress and the doors swung open onto what had once been a common area, now more like the bailey of a besieged castle.

A bailey filled with Kor’kron, with archers on the walls, heroes of Hellscream’s order rushing to meet them with weapons and corrupted magic, and a hundred unexpected horrors. Ahead of her, Jaina saw a group of adventurers sprint to the aid of a fallen figure with black and white fur.  _ Pandaren! They’re here too! _

“Jaina! Jaina, stop! Stop! Oh god! Stop!”

She slid to a halt and turned at Kinndy’s quavering voice. “What-”

“I know him,” Kinndy whispered. She was pointing to the fresh corpse of a man tied to a post, stuck with half a dozen arrows.

Jaina’s breath died in her throat. She knew him too. She’d seen him a few times, walking the Theramore streets, hand in hand with a little boy who looked so much like his father. Eventually she found him working on the deck of a ship, stuffing the spaces between planks with pitch.

“Oh…”

She turned in a circle and found more, and more, and more. People in cages, the floors black with old blood. People bound to targets, knives and arrows and spears and axes… People slaughtered, weapons gripped in their blackened hands.

Humans  _ and  _ trolls.

And somehow the first coherent thought that welled up in her was,  _ I hope none of them are Zaphine’s father. _

Kinndy grabbed her robe like a child and hid her face in the folds.

“No…” Jaina turned again, and again. “No…!  _ No! _ Please, no…”

She had learned to see past decay and identify individual people; she could tell a person’s species, sometimes sex, even specific features if the undead retained enough flesh. The Scourge became  _ people. _

And everywhere she looked she saw faces she could identify, flashes of memory that took her back to humid days, to moments in passing, guards, shop owners, citizens strolling home after a night at the tavern…

Her legs gave out. The weight of grief or horror was too much for the support spell and she fell to her knees.

“No…”

She stared into the cloudy eyes of a woman who sold her pastries almost every morning.

_ There are too many. They didn’t get away. _

Jaina drew one breath and collapsed onto all fours, retching. She felt Kinndy still clinging to her skirts. She felt the rough grit of the red soil between her fingers. She felt waning sun on her neck.

And then she felt a gentle touch on her back. Beside her, another person knelt in the dirt, with the click of jewelry and the creak of leather armour. They said nothing. Moments passed and then Jaina sat back on her knees, reached across her chest to grip the wrist of the person with their hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t break her gaze away from the woman.

“There are too many…”

“ _ Fah  _ too many.”

She turned and so did the man beside her. Even kneeling as he was, the troll was unusually tall. He held his head at an angle to keep his curving tusks out of her face and without introduction she knew this was Vol’jin.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “Your people are so brave.”

“Your people did no ting to deserve dis.”

Jaina took a deep breath and let it out.

“We are going to kill this bastard.”


	10. Angel of Wrath

Content warnings: graphic violence, **character death**

* * *

Kinndy let go of Jaina's robes. "We should bury them."

"We will." Jaina got to her feet. "We'll find their names and lay them to rest."

Theramore's cemetery was blasted to glass like everything else in the city. What a thought; the dead underground were the only bodies left behind.

Vol'jin stayed crouched beside her. "Da right to kill Hellscream belongs to his own people, to da people he betrayed."

"I'll do everything I can to help them."

He stood. "Tomorrow we be honouring our dead. Tonight, we make corpses." He pointed at her. "Don't you be takin' any Darkspear for your army of da night, Lich King. Take da Kor'kron."

Before Jaina could inform him that she would be taking no one, a tauren man with cinnamon-coloured fur and feathers in his mane trotted up to them. He paused at the sight of Jaina and kept his eyes on her as he spoke.

"Vol'jin! Hellscream has made a compound beneath the Ragefire Caverns and fled there. The human King and an army of rebels are fighting their way through as we speak but…" He shook his head. "There are so many. So many willing to die for this madness."

Vol'jin straightened to his full height for a moment. "I will stay here, Baine. Da Darkspear will reclaim dis city for da Horde." He cocked his head at Jaina. "Make dem pay. For your people an' for ours."

Jaina gave a shallow bow. "For all of those he has wronged."

The tauren led Jaina and Kinndy through the pitched battle. He had a small team of fellow tauren who gave Jaina silent, wary looks but they were happy to accept her shields as they plunged through the violence.

The high cliffs put them in shadow and as they pushed on, Jaina caught glimpses of shops and houses, of ordinary people trapped in the chaos. The narrow gorge wasn't just a strategic military objective- it was a city street, in a city at war with itself.

She almost tripped over a young orc girl- maybe the same age as Saffron- kneeling in the street, curled around a younger child. She had a deep cut on her shoulder and tear tracks through the red dust on her cheeks. Their eyes met. Jaina grabbed her arm, took a split-second glance upward, and snapped a portal into existence. She shoved the pair through, hoped the exit wasn't too high above the roof, and ran on.

Jaina saw Khadgar first.

"Ah! There you are! What kept you?"

"Those people," said Kinndy. "The dead people up there. They're from Theramore."

Khadgar's expression fell.

Jaina bit down on heartbreak. "Point me in the right direction."

"Baine here says the Kor'kron barracks are ahead. If we can open the doors, we can let in the rest of the invasion force through them."

"Vol'jin is keeping his people above to re-take the city." Jaina looked around; aside from herself and Khadgar, there was Baine, his company, and a few dozen adventurers. "Baine said Anduin is here?"

"We took a different route in than you did. Anduin should be right behind me."

Their conversation was interrupted by Baine's roar. "Nazgrim! You _traitor!_ "

"Well, I think he's going to be busy for a while. Let's see if we can make a hole around the side-"

A bolt of golden light smashed down on the Kor'kron joining the fight around Baine and Jaina saw Anduin, glowing sword in hand, charging in from another tunnel with a company of soldiers in Stormwind tabards. The adventurers around them quickly re-grouped on him, leaving Khadgar and Jaina to hold their side of the fray.

"Where did Lor'themar get to?" Jaina asked.

"Still above, I guess. He was coming down the same path as Anduin, last I knew."

Baine's fight with the traitorous Nazgrim shifted as they locked weapons and briefly took each other to the floor, only to rise seconds later and crash into the wall beside Anduin. Jaina saw him raise a hand and a warm glow lit his armoured fist- _he's too young for plate mail!-_ only to have it snuffed out by a lash of blinding black energy. Jaina turned to the source; another orc- with a blade for a hand- rushed up the hall where Nazgrim had come from.

"What was that?"

"Some devilry from Pandaria," Khadgar shouted back. "They call it _sha_."

The new foe had a deluge of Kor'kron with him, of course.

"There's so many!" Kinndy's voice cut through the clamour.

Jaina saw a tunnel ahead of them, through the gauntlet of Kor'kron. "There! That must be the way!"

"Yes, it-"

A dagger came flying out of the melee and struck Khadgar in the mouth with enough force to snap his head back. Jaina screamed and dove after him as he fell. She grabbed his robes and managed to keep him from bashing his head on the ground, but his weight pulled her down too, and she landed awkwardly on one elbow and knee, half straddling him. Pain shot up her limbs.

"Khadgar! Oh my god-"

There was an ugly gash in his lip and she could see a gap where a couple of his teeth were knocked out. By the grace of whatever alien power watched over him, the dagger had struck him hilt first. His eyes rolled back and he went limp.

"Oh no, no-!" She glanced up. " _You!_ " She projected the full force of her harrowing, deathly voice at a human- no, _Forsaken_ \- priestess. " _Help him!_ "

The Forsaken woman froze, gaze fixed on something behind Jaina. Jaina took the cue and threw a shield over herself and Khadgar.

_Where's Kinndy?!_

Her apprentice stood beside them, staff raised, one hand out-stretched and holding a shield of her own that withstood the force of a warhammer. The shield fractured as the wielder reared back for another strike. Jaina rolled onto her back, dropped her shield, and blasted the whole onslaught between herself and the tunnel with a disorganized volley of frostbolts.

The Forsaken priestess slid across the floor to reach Khadgar.

"Get him on his feet if you can. We need him!"

A handful of what Jaina took to be the woman's companions rushed to surround her while she pressed glowing hands to Khadgar's chest.

Another dozen adventurers had the blade-armed orc occupied and Baine was still trading blows with Nazgrim.

Jaina's gaze landed on Anduin. She scrambled to her feet, pushing the support spell down her injured leg to stabilize it.

"Kinndy, with me!"

"What about Khad-"

"Let the priestess see to him. Come on!"

They dodged around as many of the on-going fights as they could but Jaina had to put up a pair of shields like a plow blade and throw her weight behind them to shove between two Kor'kron.

"Jaina!"

"Anduin!"

"That way! We have to open the doors!"

There was no time for a reunion hug. Jaina directed another volley of ice down the hallway. They ran. Among Anduin's soldiers was a silver-haired human Death Knight with twin runeblades who wore the blue and white tabard of Lordaeron over his dark armour. Their eyes met for a moment and he quickly looked away.

"There! There!" Anduin pointed with his sword. A trio of adventurers were pulling the doors open almost before he finished shouting. A mix of Kor'kron and invasion fighters surged through from the other side and blocked the hall.

"Forward!"

Their company was shedding people with every new battle and each push cost them time, but adventurers from the open barracks joined them now, along with a number of orcs wearing tatters of red fabric tied around their arms, on their belts, wrapped around staves and the hilts of axes, or binding their hair. Some of them were distinctly not soldiers; they were ordinary people inspired to action, carrying shreds of the flag- the Horde- that they believed in.

After a blessedly Kor'kron-free thirty seconds, they reached a junction where the hall split into three.

"Which way?"

"All of them. Find out where they lead. Take your soldiers there, I'll go this way-"

The sound of armoured feet pounded up the hall behind them.

"Augh! I'm sick of these jerks!"

Kinndy turned, aimed her staff at the advancing Kor'kron, and launched a fireball. Most of them ducked and dodged out of the way but it held them for a moment. In those precious seconds, an answering blast of magic caught the Kor'kron in a crossfire, and Lor'themar's scarlet robes flashed through the havoc.

"Regent-Lord! Thank the Light!"

Baine was with him, bloodied and limping but victorious. And behind them, supported on one side by the Forsaken priestess and the other by Zaphine, was Khadgar.

"Khadgar! You're alive!" Kinndy clapped her hands. "I was so worried."

"Don't worry. I'll be good ath new," he lisped through the hole in his teeth and gave Kinndy a thumbs up.

"What now?"

Lor'themar had taken up a rearguard position with Baine at his side. "We'll hold them here. Go! Find Hellscream!"

Jaina pointed. "I'll go this way- Anduin- Your Highness- that way-"

"I'll take the latht hall."

"Are you sure?"

"It'th fine." Khadgar waved a hand. "I've got all thethe new friendth." He gestured to the priestess and her companions.

The adventurers swiftly organized themselves into four more or less equal groups and attached themselves to one of the leaders.

"May the Light go with all of you!"

"And with you, Your Highness!"

"Earthmother watch over us all!'

"Forward! For the Alliance!"

" _For the Horde!_ "

Jaina spread her shields across the width of the corridor to protect the adventurers with her and ran. A blood elf paladin fell into step on her left, his own shields blazing to life, overlapping hers.

"How's the fight, Lady King?"

Jaina turned to her right and found Kagra. The Death Knight bared her tusks in a fierce grin.

"Oh, you know. Just once it would be nice to have a dragon-free battle."

"They're handled." Kagra spun her daggers around her fingers, runes flashing. "We saw to the Dragonmaw."

"Good to hear."

Ahead of them a deep growl rumbled down the hallway. Heavy steps shuddered the floor, followed by the sound of metal dragging on stone, and then a snort.

Jaina stopped. The adventurers formed up around her. "Are you kidding me? _More_ dragons?"

There was a reddish glow ahead and as they drew closer, Jaina saw a portcullis with thick, spiked bars, partially raised. It was jammed at a an angle, leaving a gap just tall enough for the largest of their group to duck under.

The growling and snorting continued, now interspersed with loud sniffing.

"Well, it knows we're here," whispered Kagra.

"Shh. We may still have the element of surprise. Let's see what we're facing."

They crept up to the portcullis. At first, in the dim crimson torchlight, Jaina didn't see anything. She heard more snuffling. It was moving in their direction.

"Oh, I don't like this." Kinndy whispered. "I can't see anyth...ing."

The blood elf paladin took a step back and hissed. "What demon-?"

Jaina blinked and her eyes refocused. Her jaw dropped. "That's… that's a devilsaur."

"And somebody _armoured_ it. Who _does_ that?!" Kinndy was right. The devilsaur had thick pieces of plate chained to it, including a massive blade attached to its head.

"Well," said Kagra. "At least it's not a dragon."

"How is this better?!"

"I'll take point." The blood elf paladin unsheathed his sword.

"I'll distract 'em." A blue-haired gnome stepped up, holding a small bomb. He had a string of them on a bandolier across his chest.

"Shields ready."

"I've got your back."

"I've got an eye out for the damned Kor'kron."

The adventurers turned to Jaina.

"On your go, Lady Proudmoore."

She paused. "We don't have to fight this thing. Look-" she pointed across the devilsaur's cell. "There's the exit. I'll distract the monster and you get that far door open. We can be on our way quickly and hopefully without anyone getting eaten."

The adventurers considered amongst themselves for a moment.

"Beggin' your pardon, ma'am," said a dwarven woman, "It should be myself an' other plate wearin' folk keepin' the beast at bay."

Kagra snorted. "Our Lady King can do your job in silks. Put your strength to use lifting that gate."

"I appreciate the courtesy but Kagra is right. Ready?"

Affirmatives were given and Jaina and Kinndy stepped into the room. They crept along the wall until Jaina deemed their distance from the adventurers to be sufficiently safe.

"Let's get its attention."

Jaina leveled her repeating frostbolt spell at its neck.

The devilsaur turned as the first shards of ice shattered against armour and thick skin, opened its enormous jaws, and roared. For several seconds after, Jaina couldn't hear anything but ringing in her ears, and she saw several of the adventurers stagger and reel as they made their way along the opposite wall. Jaina kept the spell aimed at the most exposed flesh she could see.

"Jaina…"

"Hold your ground. Set your shields."

She nudged the feedback loop and the spell screamed between her hands. Now her frostbolts were doing some damage, though not as much as she would like. Beside her, Kinndy's shields were laced with lightning, holding strong despite her obvious fright.

The beast charged.

Jaina waited til the last moment, then shifted all the power into an ice shield as the devilsaur reached them. Its jaws spread across the whole span of the shield, teeth grinding against the ice. It snarled and shifted its grip, trying different angles, and when it couldn't get purchase, it rammed its head against the shield in frustration. Jaina's arms shook with the effort of holding the ice solid.

She tasted blood and felt a drop of warmth slide down her upper lip. _Dammit! Not yet!_

She pressed the feedback loop again. The power tripled and she thrust spikes of ice out of the shield. The devilsaur bellowed.

Behind the shield and the beast's furious noise, Jaina heard armoured feet pounding toward the room. _Please, please be more adventurers catching up to us._

But the sound came from the wrong direction- from the exit hall, not the gate where they entered. Cries of challenge rang out and she knew Kor'kron from deeper in the cavern had found them. If she kept the devilsaur occupied, the adventurers could concentrate on the Kor'kron and hopefully push through them. The footsteps didn't stop. There were too many.

Jaina slammed her spiked shield into the devilsaur's face.

"Run!"

Kinndy never left her hip. The Kor'kron caught the adventurers between themselves and the devilsaur, slammed the gate shut behind them, and now out-numbered her companions at least four to one.

The beast still had its attention on Jaina and Kinndy. She set her shields and dashed toward the entrance gate, turning the devilsaur away from the adventurers and the oncoming Kor'kron. Just before they reached the gate, Jaina teleported herself and Kinndy back to a point near the exit. The devilsaur rammed its head against the entrance gate and crouched to snap at the space below the portcullis, ignoring the adventurers for the time being.

Kagra and the dwarf tackled the exit portcullis. "Quickly, while it's confused! The gate!"

"I'm on it! You! Tauren! Help me!"

Jaina stumbled. Her knee throbbed and she focused power from the feedback loop into the support spell. Her vision blurred; she found the wall with a trembling hand and kept her balance.

The devilsaur turned away from the entrance gate, shaking it's massive head in frustration, and roared again. The sound vibrated the very air.

Jaina's knee was a constant sharp pain, but the support spell kept it from buckling. Some of the Kor'kron were peeling away from the battle and coming after them now, and the devilsaur was closing in on the commotion.

She turned to Kinndy. "Brace yourself."

Jaina knelt and pressed her palms against the floor, took a deep breath, and reached for the Lich King's power. It was only too eager to respond. Jaina gave a cry and slammed the dark magic into the ground.

Cracks spidered out from beneath her hands, zig-zagging across the floor, and in their wake the earth heaved and shuddered. Spikes of ice burst from the cracks. Jaina gritted her teeth, focused on not impaling the adventurers, and channelled the quake spell until the room shook everyone off their feet, including the devilsaur.

She tried to rise and couldn't get further than her knees. _Fine, then. I can still cast._ She reached out with one hand. Ropes of unholy magic streaked across the room. She grabbed as many of the adventurers as she could and yanked them to her position, reached again for those she left behind and pulled.

There were only fourteen of them left.

Kinndy ducked under her arm and tried to help Jaina to her feet. The blood elf joined her and they lifted her between them.

The devilsaur rolled and got its feet under it, faster than half the Kor'kron.

"Go! Go! Go!" The gate rested on Kagra and the tauren's shoulders, creaking slowly down despite their combined strength.

"Forward!" Jaina rasped and stabbed a shaking finger down the hall.

Kagra and the tauren let go of the gate and dove after them. It slammed shut but seconds later Jaina heard clicks and gears rumbling; it wouldn't hold the Kor'kron for long. _Hopefully long enough to interest the devilsaur._

They managed a few running steps before the corridor in front of them filled with more Kor'kron. Behind them, the portcullis raised and the devilsaur drove the other group toward their backs. The adventurers readied weapons.

The dwarven woman looked up at Jaina. "It's been a right pleasure, Lady Proudmoore."

Kinndy, eyes wide with terror, leveled her staff at the hallway ahead.

Jaina crooked her fingers into claws and took a deep breath before she drew on her unholy might. Her chest tightened. The edges of her vision started to blur. She hesitated.

_We don't know what's ahead or how long this battle will take. If I spend too much of myself now, I'll be useless to them._

Jaina let go of the power.

"Keep that sentiment in the present tense," she said. "I'm bringing reinforcements."

* * *

Kinndy fought the urge to hyperventilate. There were Kor'kron in front of them, behind them- and the devilsaur- hopefully it was too big to get into the hallway- _but what if it wasn't?_

She closed her eyes. _Breathe._ She took a slow breath in through her nose, held the breath for two heartbeats, and let it out through her mouth. Counted another two heartbeats and took another breath.

Then she firmed up her grip on her staff and squared her shoulders. "Okay. Let's do this."

Behind her, she heard the snap of displaced air as Jaina opened a portal.

_Concentrate on what is in front of you._

There were so many weapons coming toward her, so many eyes, so many teeth-

The blood elf paladin slammed his sword against his shield and screamed something at the Kor'kron in what must have been Thalassian. He stepped half in front of her- she still had line of sight around the edge of his shield and she remembered Jaina's words- _adventurers overlap their strength until there are no weaknesses._ He was protecting her; he was counting on her to be strong beside him.

Kinndy aimed for the Kor'kron in the lead and launched a fireball- it wasn't powerful enough to do more than surprise and singe him a little- but it was enough to make him falter. When he did, it threw off his gait and, to Kinndy's shock, those behind him knocked him down, leapt his fallen body or ran right over him.

The blood elf held his ground. He looked so slender and frail against the onslaught of orcs but when the first one lunged for him, he met the rush with preternatural strength, throwing the leader back with his shield.

One of the orcs' attention landed on Kinndy and she saw the Kor'kron give a snort of amusement.

Kinndy frowned and gathered her power, whirled in a full circle, and unleashed another fireball from the tip of her staff. This one was better- it had more force and mass and it knocked the orc off her feet and back into her fellows.

Kinndy had it now- the best way to form the spell and the best way to direct it- focus it through her staff- and she had pretty good aim, too! Beside her, the blood elf used his sword more to parry than stab or slice, as much a shield as his actual shield. _Defense. We've got to hold them here._

She picked another target, formed the spell, aimed and unleashed it. She chose the same location each time, trying to poke a hole through the wall of black armour.

But there were too many of the Kor'kron and too few of the adventurers- Kinndy glimpsed a body crumpled against the wall on the other side of the corridor, a body without black and gold armour-

She struggled to keep her focus. The blood elf skidded back, beset by two huge orcs but still stubbornly pushing against them. Kinndy blasted a fireball into their shins and it gave him enough time to regain a solid stance.

It only lasted a second and then the wave of black armour overwhelmed them. Kinndy saw the blood elf's shield flash and his arm around the waist of a human woman, drawing his shield across her as they disappeared under the battering crush of Kor'kron. He had been standing beside her just a second ago and now-

A wave of invisible force blasted over her head and slammed into the Kor'kron. Immediately following the blast was a charge- _the Scourge were here!_ The undead soldiers advanced, shields and spears leading, swords and magic behind, fearless- _mindless_ \- and threw themselves on the staggered Kor'kron.

The odds were even now.

No, they weren't- the odds were overwhelmingly in their favour! Kinndy took a second to find the blood elf. He was still alive, struggling out from a heap of bodies in black armour. He turned and pulled the human woman to her feet with one hand. His other arm was badly broken, bone poking through his torn sleeve.

A grey-haired orc woman- missing an eye, her braids bound with shreds of red fabric- gently took hold of his elbow and magic like sparkling water flowed around his injury until there was nothing left but a rip in the fabric.

"Well then." The dwarven woman put her hands on her hips and blew out a long breath. "It _is_ a right pleasure, Lady Proudmoore! Present tense."

Kinndy turned to smile up at her mentor. Blood smudged Jaina's lips and chin but she was standing on her own and clear-eyed.

Kel'Thuzad stood beside her.

"Oh," said Kinndy, "were things really _that_ bad?"

Jaina wiped her nose with a little square of black fabric. "There's no reason to let things get _that_ bad before asking for help."

The old orc woman approached Kinndy and said something, then gestured to her.

"She wants to know if you want her to heal your hands," said the blood elf.

Kinndy looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were burned so badly that they were red, swollen, and blistered.

"I- I didn't notice- how did I- did I- y-yes. Please."

The woman knelt with creaking knees. Her magic felt like soothing water and Kinndy watched with awe as the blisters subsided, the redness and swelling faded, and her skin became smooth and whole again.

"That's amazing!" She raised her gaze to the old woman. "I've never been healed with magic before. You're incredible. Thank you!"

The blood elf translated, though Kinndy thought the old woman understood the essence of her words. She smiled around worn tusks and Kinndy helped her to her feet.

"Seriously, that's amazing."

"Everyone, take a moment to catch your breath. Then we move on."

The Scourge soldiers formed a ring around the battered adventurers as they tended their wounds, retrieved lost weapons, and consoled each other. The body near the wall turned out to be a worgen woman; two of the adventurers knelt beside her, hands aglow, then backed away, shaking their heads. In eerie near-silence, her comrades gathered around her and whispered their final words.

"What about the devilsaur?" Kinndy peered around Kel'Thuzad, trying for a glimpse between the Scourge. "Can it fit down this hall?"

"Doubtful. I gave it a couple of chew toys to keep it entertained anyway." Kel'Thuzad cocked his head toward Jaina. "Poor thing deserves a better life than this."

"I don't think it would enjoy Icecrown's climate."

"Well, if it wasn't alive…"

"You already have a pet."

"Kinndy doesn't."

"Uh, no thanks. I don't want a pet that will try to eat me."

"All right everyone! Onward!"

The Scourge led the way.

The near-silence didn't last long. In front of them, Kinndy heard the now-familiar commotion of battle and they broke into a run.

The hall opened into another room with two other entry corridors and one exit. First Kinndy saw the black and gold armour of the Kor'kron.

"How many of them are there?!"

"Too many."

"Oh! There's King Anduin!"

The young King was warded on all sides by his remaining company and a group of orcs wearing scraps of red cloth but they were sorely out-numbered. Mixed into the melee were strange insectoid creatures that Kinndy didn't recognize.

Their group plunged into the fray without hesitation, evening the odds again. Kinndy tried to find a line to hold as they had in the hallway but there were no lines here, only chaos.

Jaina appeared at her side and her shields flashed to life.

"Stay with me!"

"I'm staying!"

Jaina's eyes lit with unholy power. Seconds later, King Anduin and his protectors broke through the reeling wall of battle and joined them. Jaina's shields expanded, threaded with golden light from the King's clenched fists. In ones and twos, their allies staggered through the shield, shepherded by the Scourge, and they added their varied magics to the shield- sparkling, writhing, burning, blooming-

" _Now_." Jaina's voice raised the hair on the back of Kinndy's neck.

Then she and Kel'Thuzad stepped outside the shield, hand in hand.

Kinndy understood what casting partners were in an academic sense: mages who cast together to achieve results neither would produce alone. What Jaina, Khadgar, and Lor'themar had performed outside the gates of Orgrimmar was parallel casting- their spells supported each other for a common goal. Kinndy had struggled to understand the difference. Surely casting in parallel would produce results none of the involved mages could do alone?

Now she understood.

Pure, unfettered arcane power exploded from Jaina and Kel'Thuzad's clasped hands, momentarily formless, loosed from all bonds of shape or control. It screamed like a living thing set free, seared the stone walls of the room, blinded her, and broke into uncountable colours, a hundred thousand hues splintering in all directions. Then it tightened, sharpened, honed to merciless precision, and struck crackling spears of lightning through flesh and black armour.

The layers of shields began to unfold and Kinndy realized there was _nothing_ left in the room but them. Jaina's support spell was a bright scaffold now, no longer faint, but if she felt any weakness, she didn't show it physically and it certainly didn't hamper her magic.

King Anduin approached Jaina and, after a second of hesitation, pulled her into a laughing embrace.

"Good to see you," he said when he released her.

She patted his cheek. "You too."

In the moments after the spell, everything else seemed mundane- even the High King of the Alliance standing a hands-breadth from Kinndy.

"Where's Khadgar?"

Jaina pointed. "He's in the tunnel still. I felt his magic push back against the spell."

Anduin waved to a human Death Knight. "Thassarian, take a few people and find him."

The Death Knight bowed and hurried away.

"We were ambushed by Kor'kron and those insects. Have you ever seen such a thing?"

"Children of the aqir," said Kel'Thuzad, "but none that I recognize."

An explosion sounded behind them in the tunnels and everyone jumped, readying their weapons. Khadgar, Thassarian, and his group of new friends stumbled out from a cloud of acrid black smoke, coughing and batting away flecks of glowing ash.

" _More_ mechanical horrorth! I've had about enough of them."

He drew up short when he saw Kel'Thuzad.

"Oh wonderful."

The lich squinted at him. "What happened to you?"

"Fabulouth heroicth."

King Anduin's voice rang out. "People of Azeroth!" He turned to address the whole group. "The only way is forward! _Together!_ "

The group consolidated, organized itself- rebellious Orgrimmar citizens, adventurers, Stormwind soldiers, and the Scourge- captained by three mages and King Anduin. It set Kinndy's heart pounding.

"Anyone else feel sort of like… wow!" She fanned herself with one hand.

"Nah, you don't be the only one feelin' that." Zaphine fell into step beside her. "Kinndy, yes?"

"That's me!" She reached up for a quick handshake. "Soffriel says you're a warlock."

"Ha, he's generous. I still got much to learn."

"Me too. I've been Lady Jaina's apprentice for…" She paused. "Five weeks. Hey! We should study together!"

"Your magic an' mine be very different."

"That's actually a good thing. The best way to learn is by teaching someone else to understand. It really makes everything fall into place for me. Is it true you can summon demons?"

Zaphine nodded. "But not me. Not yet."

"Me neither- uh, I don't mean demons. Some mages can summon water elementals. I'm better at fire."

"Maybe we don't be so different after all."

The corridor sloped downward and torches became less frequent. There was something heavy in the air- not magic, not an emotion but something real and palpable. Kinndy's skin crawled.

"There's something here," she whispered.

"I feel it too."

"I don't like this. It's too quiet."

King Anduin signalled a halt. The three mages stood in a triangle with the King in the centre, Jaina and Khadgar flanking him and Kel'Thuzad facing forward into the silent darkness. _Right. He's the offense. Khadgar must be a defense mage like Jaina._

"Whatever we face," he said, "we face it together."

Kinndy heard a raspy purr and the sound of air rushing-

"Above us!"

And the room- huge, vaulted, long, more a large corridor really- _focus!-_ became a blur of weapons-

"Oh spirits they're fast-"

"Focus," Kinndy gasped, "take them on one by one-"

As the battle around them escalated to furious bedlam, Kinndy found herself backed against Zaphine. Felfire and shadow magic careened around them both- Zaphine's defenses were like Kel'Thuzad's- they reached and bit, devouring rather than repelling. _Okay, I can work with this!_ All of Kinndy's time spent throwing rocks and fireballs at the lich made sense in the pandemonium: she identified spells of attack and defense, and paid attention to the attacks that came at them, found gaps in other's defense and struck through them with streaks of rippling flame.

Familiar black armour joined the battle-

" _Really?!_ How many of them are there?!"

The onslaught of Kor'Kron drove Kinndy and Zaphine apart. Kinndy slammed her staff against the floor and a mighty ball of fire blasted out from her, pushed the warriors back with heat and concussive force.

She caught glimpses of the warlock between moving bodies. Hands aglow, ducking, dodging, throwing felfire, eyes wide and teeth bared, her skirts and necklaces whipping around her-

"Zaphine!"

Kinndy tried to force her way through the throng to the other woman. She launched another fireball but there were more bodies between her and Zaphine now.

" _Kinndy!"_ It was a shriek of gut-wrenching terror. "Help!"

"Zaphine!" Kinndy whirled, fire trailing from the tip of her staff but it wasn't enough, it burned but it had no force. " _Zaphine!_ " She couldn't push through and the orcs were closing in. Zaphine fell, down on one knee, and struggled back up, flashing fire in her hands. Tears streaked her cheeks.

"Help me- _help_ -"

Kinndy saw a blur of metal connect with Zaphine's temple, her felfire faded, and she reached out one hand, grasping for anything, and then the wall of Kor'Kron closed on her.

" _Zaphine!_ " Kinndy screamed so hard her voice broke.

And then she realized that she was surrounded and alone. Completely surrounded: swords, clubs, ironclad fists- she was cut off from all of her friends- and she was _so small._ She made a sound she didn't know she could make- a scream that ripped out of her like a roar, harsh and guttural- and she spun in a tight circle. Fire blazed from the tip of her staff, sputtered, burst and turned blue-white- Kinndy still had her mouth open but she couldn't make a sound. She was swallowed by the clamour- weapons, bodies, too many-

Something hit her in the back and she sprawled flat on her face. Her staff bounced away into the swirl of bodies. A hand grabbed her hair-

Suddenly it let go and she was wet, her clothes soggy, hair drooping- She wiped at her face with a sticky hand- _it was blood, it was all blood-_

A battering wind swept above her and before she could get up, something dove out of the wall of Kor'Kron, grabbed her, somersaulted with her held tight, and she recognized arms wrapped around her, the back of her head smashed against armour, and a body curved over her. She wriggled and thrashed but they held her tight, unrelenting, unmoving. _Oh._ They weren't hurting her; they were sheltering her.

The world screamed. Kinndy's protector hunched over her and remained frozen, arms squeezed tight.

She managed to crane her neck enough to look forward- between bodies-

A fury of whipping chains, glinting like a whirlwind of tiny knives, slinging blood, slicing- Kel'Thuzad's back, his robes flared on the currents of seething magic, hovering above the ground, and pure blackness spun out from his hands, a pinwheel of shadows on the floor that grasped and stuck to the Kor'Kron and the insectoid things among them.

They melted like living wax, bodies liquified from the boots up, sucked into the spinning void. The magic only sought the living, and now she recognized a Death Knight's armour wrapped around her.

Kinndy grabbed her protector's vambraces with desperate strength and pulled her feet onto their armoured thighs, finding purchase with her heels as the hungry blackness swept by beneath them.

And it was done. Kel'Thuzad's feet touched the floor again and his chains retreated into embroidery. The Death Knight released her. Their eyes locked for a brief moment- it was Kagra. She was gone before Kinndy could thank her, snatching an axe from the puddled Kor'Kron, howling into the fray.

Kinndy's first instinct was to find her staff. She glanced this way and that, looking for the gold and pink amidst sticky red and black. There would be more soldiers. She had to find it fast.

Then she turned and saw Zaphine. Sprawled on her back, entrails slopped over her open belly, her braided belt oddly clean. One arm just _missing_ and her face a smear of anonymous meat that ended three feet away with her tongue beside a hammer.

Something eclipsed her gaze but _Zaphine_ stayed, every detail etched in perfect clarity.

"You're going home _now_."

Jaina handed Kinndy's staff to her and pushed her through a portal.

She landed on the floor of the laboratory in deafening silence. She sat there, shaking, teeth chattering, covered in blood.

"Kinndy?"

She tried to stand up but she was shaking too hard. She dropped her staff from numb fingers. Soffriel knelt down before her.

"What happened?"

She took a deep breath, held it for two heartbeats, and burst into tears.

* * *

Fever stormed through Jaina's veins. Her eyes burned, her muscles ached, and her hands- the only skin she could see- had lost any tint of pink. Even the beds of her nails had gone white.

She was standing because of the support spell and her own words came back to her again and again- _this is a siege, you can't spend all of your strength at once._ But she had spent too much already, in bits and pieces, and necessary bursts. The rational part of her mind knew that she should withdraw from the battle, yet the primitive, hungry part howled for vengeance- somewhere ahead of them was Garrosh Hellscream and he would pay for every hollow face she recognized in the city above, every name, all of those left alive to be haunted by loss-

She made a compromise: the best help she could give right now was the Scourge. She surrounded Anduin with the most stalwart of them, mixed in with visibly unsettled Stormwind soldiers. She sent the casters to aid Khadgar. Several served as her eyes throughout the melee and her ready guardians.

The rest she pushed ahead. They cut and bludgeoned their way through the Kor'kron, undeterred by swords plunged through them and lost limbs, dispassionate in the face of fire and acid, and so it was the Scourge that broke through the last line of Hellscream's defense.

Jaina gasped. " _Thrall!"_ She raised her unnatural voice and cut through the noise of the Kor'kron's last stand. " _Hellscream! You will answer for you crimes! Azeroth comes for you!"_

Anything the rebellion had been holding back was now unleashed- magic and blades, teeth and claws, fury, despair, revenge- they threw down the failing Kor'kron and charged as one towards their goal.

Thrall's own voice echoed in the vaulted chamber before them.

" _-spirits of the wind, the earth, the water! Hear my call! Come to my aid!"_

"Warchief! Silvermoon stands with you!"

"An'she smiles upon us!"

"For the _true_ Warchief!"

" _For the Horde! Our Horde!"_

And then another voice-

" _FOOLS!"_

Jaina didn't need the volley of curses hurled after that voice to recognize it: Hellscream.

Kel'Thuzad appeared at her side. His hair was tied back in a blood-streaked ponytail and he was carrying a scythe.

"We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

He pointed upwards, toward the distant ceiling. " _That._ "

Jaina squinted. "What is that thing?"

"One of Khadgar's new friends says it's the beating heart of an Old God."

"I'm sorry, it's a _what_? What- how did he get-? Nevermind." She turned her attention back to the Scourge point of view for a moment. "Yeah. That's a problem."

"Shall we take a closer look?"

"Absolutely."

The heart- and now Jaina could see that it was very much a real, pulsing heart suspended in an iron cage- exuded power. Old power, deep power, the sort of power that went beyond magic, that existed _before_ magic. She felt a tug, a sharp needle of despair, and shoved it away.

"I can't believe I'm saying this but I don't think we should meddle with that thing."

"Too late," said Jaina and pointed. "Hellscream's already meddled."

Purple mist extended from the heart to Hellscream himself, winding around his arms and chest, sinking into his skin. It threaded through his fist and coalesced into a monstrous axe.

"That isn't good."

Whatever strength the heart gave to Hellscream turned him from a formidable warrior to a creature of nightmare. Thrall charged him and Hellscream tossed him across the room with one hand and a laugh. Despite Hellscream's newfound strength and ferocity, the rebellion organized themselves expertly as they descended upon him. Jaina gave the Scourge one command:

**Kill him.**

The heart glowed above them and the mist continued, swirling through the battle. The streaks of bright black magic that Khadgar called the _sha_ darted among them, striking some of the combatants and Jaina watched them crumple to the ground with each touch. Some of them rose; others curled up; others lay where they fell.

The _sha_ reached for Anduin.

Jaina teleported into the battle just in time to grab him and yank him away from the questing tendril.

_You do not have the strength to defeat him._

Jaina stumbled and caught herself against Anduin's back. The voice in her head almost sounded like her own, but she had communicated telepathically with Kel'Thuzad long enough to recognize another mind inside her own.

_You are too weak to carry on._

She blinked rapidly, ran a hand through her hair.

"Lady King!"

She looked up at the blood elf paladin- he grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. _I fell?_

_You will die when you leave this place._

**Kel'Thuzad- this thing is telepathic!**

_Your cause it hopeless. Your allies will leave you behind._

She clenched her jaw. **Get out of my head.**

_You have already lost._

The battle around her faded; she was standing on the ice at the bottom of the stairs to Icecrown Citadel. The building was crushed. Only the stairs remained, leading to nothing. Panic shook her and she raised a hand to her cheek to feel the slight indentation of a scar and cold flesh. _I've dreamed this before._

_All of your friends are dead._

The scene became clearer. The sparkle of ice crystals beneath her boots. The colour of the sky; it must be summer. The mangled bodies of everyone she knew- _this isn't real, they aren't dead-_ everyone except-

 _Damn this thing is persistent!_ Kel'Thuzad. _It got you instead of Anduin._

**Good. I'm too weak to be useful. Azeroth needs Anduin.**

_Your allies will leave you behind._

She could feel Kel'Thuzad's mental presence but he didn't say anything for several seconds. _Azeroth needs_ you _too._

The voice was quiet. The ruins of the Citadel were not as convincing as those in her dreams. This looked like a child's sandcastle kicked over by a petulant sibling; the thing in her mind strived to shock her with total crushing destruction but it failed to understand the small details that would hurt her most.

Jaina sneered.

**Show me something real.**

_Jaina! For fel's sake, don't antagonize it!_

The pieces of the Citadel reassembled. The bodies vanished. The scene shimmered and Jaina found herself on the deck of a Stormwind ship, making for the red beach of Durotar.

"Where did you come fr- _Who are you?_ "

Jaina turned.

And met her own eyes.

They stared at each other. This other her bore no scars; there was colour in her cheeks and lips; she wore purple and gold robes and carried a staff. Her hair was white with a single blond streak at her hairline.

"You're me," said Jaina. "I'm you."

The other Jaina wore an expression of derision. "Me? You're mad."

Jaina looked around. "This is some sort of mental illusion. The heart in Hellscream's lair is messing about in my mind."

Other Jaina gripped her staff. "What do you know about Hellscream? Who are you?"

"I'm _you_. I asked the heart to show me something real. This isn't what I expected."

Other Jaina raised her hand and shackles of magic tightened around Jaina's wrists. "Guards! Take this prisoner below decks and find out what she knows!"

The bindings were tight enough to hurt. Jaina shrugged out of them. "I've always wondered what it would be like to duel myself."

Other Jaina hesitated and a blush spread across the bridge of her nose.

"I thought that when I was just a mage. I think it would be madness to duel myself as I am now."

"...who are you?"

"A daughter of Kul Tiras, once a student of the Kirin Tor, once the Lady of Theramore." She paused and examined the expression on her other self. There was pain there, bitter anger, hate- and loneliness. It was buried deep, but Jaina knew herself. She spoke gently. "I defeated Ner'zhul at Light's Hope Chapel. I took Deathwing's left eye on the ramparts of Stormwind. I have two apprentices, and now I join the people of Azeroth to overthrow a tyrant. I am Jaina Proudmoore, the Lich King of Icecrown, and my kingdom is a sanctuary at the top of the world."

Other Jaina gasped. "No-! You're _not_ me-!"

Suddenly Kel'Thuzad was beside her. "We need to get out of here as fast as possible."

"Are you _you_ or are you a figment of my- or the heart's- imagination?"

Kel'Thuzad grabbed his own wrist for a few seconds. "Jaina, I have a pulse."

She reached up and rested two fingers on his throat. "You do."

The colour drained out of his cheeks. "This is my nightmare."

Jaina was quiet for a moment.

Other Jaina took the opportunity to slap magical shackles on Kel'Thuzad. "You're both going to tell me who you are and what you know about Hellscream!"

Kel'Thuzad's eyes widened. "That's you!"

"She doesn't think so."

"Both of you! _Silence!_ " There was magic behind the order but Jaina brushed it off.

"An angrier version of you." He popped the shackles open and examined the broken spellwork. "But less powerful."

"Is that really your nightmare? Being alive?"

He grimaced. "Being mortal."

Other Jaina gestured and Jaina prepared herself for some magic but instead she heard the whistle of an incoming projectile-

-and the solid _thunk_ as the arrow sank into Kel'Thuzad's chest. They both stared at it.

"Ow."

Jaina heard- or sensed- the next arrow and whirled, spread her hands, drawing shields across them both.

"Uh…" Kel'Thuzad sank to the deck, hand pressed to the spreading bloodstain on his robes. "That myth about dying in your dreams-"

_All of your friends are dead. There is nothing left of your world._

**There is nothing left of you but meat in a cage, used by a selfish man.** _**Shut up.** _

The ship, the beach, and the other Jaina disappeared into purple smoke.

Jaina sat up with some difficulty. There was a weight on her lap that she ignored for the time being. She was shivering, still feverish, and her wrists ached. All she could see were shapes and colours; sound was muffled.

"Jaina?" She identified one of the shapes as Khadgar leaning over her.

"Ugh. Yes, I'm here." She rubbed her hands over her face. Sound slowly became sharper. "Everything hurts."

The weight in her lap shifted and Kel'Thuzad sat up beside her. His hands flew to his chest and he grabbed at his bloodstained robes.

"Oh thank the Void." He sprawled on his back. "Don't scowl at me like that, Archmage. It makes you look old."

Jaina got to her feet with Khadgar's help. Every movement pushed the support spell to the limits of its power.

"What happened?"

"Hellthcream lotht. King Anduin and the new Warchief handed him over to the pandaren."

"Wait- He _lost?_ I _missed_ it? I missed _-_ Oh for Light's sake! How long was I in there?"

"About twenty minuteth."

"Dammit!" She rubbed her temples. "I have such a headache." Then the rest of his words registered. "What do you mean 'new' Warchief? Is Thrall-?"

Khadgar shook his head. "He'th fine. He pathed the role to Vol'jin."

"And Hellscream isn't dead?"

"Unfortunately, no. The pandaren have him and intend to try him for the crimeth he committed againtht their people. Come. The pandaren fellow invited uth to vithit Pandaria with him for a theremony of thome kind."

Jaina hesitated. Her body screamed for rest. She rubbed her sore wrists. "I should…"

There were lines of reddened skin around her wrists, as though she had been bound.

**I have a bizarre question- do you have a hole in your chest where the arrow hit you?**

_...yes._

"Why not. This day has been strange from dawn to dusk and I would love to see Pandaria."

"Exthellent!"

* * *

Jaina's brain was in the final throes of exhaustion and her impressions of Pandaria came in jumbled images: beautiful curved golden roofs; a well of brilliant light and a large cylindrical bell hung by scarlet ropes; a hovering, undulating long dragon made of light; warm air scented with flowers she couldn't identify.

The support spell began to sputter and die, and she remained standing thanks to Kel'Thuzad's arm secured around her waist. She was vaguely aware of their pandaren host asking about her health and assured him that she was only tired from a long fight and would return to wholly appreciate his beautiful continent after some rest.

Before she succumbed to overwhelming fatigue, Jaina stared, mesmerized, at a pandaren ghost, some great old spirit returned to close a chapter of Pandarian history she didn't understand at all.

"Why do we fight?" asked the spirit. "To fight out of fear or anger is to fight a war that never ends. Face your fears. Calm your hatreds. Find peace within yourself so that you may share it with the world around you."

Jaina nodded to the spirit. "I will."

_I am Jaina Proudmoore, the Lich King of Icecrown, and my kingdom is a sanctuary at the top of the world._

Then she passed out.

* * *

a/n: Happy new year everyone! :D Hopefully it sucks less than last year... although I think the bar for that is so low it's buried. Anyway! I'm thinking about making a separate 'story' for illustrations, rather than putting them in the chapters here. (When I read AO3 stories on my phone- or tablet- images can make the formatting wonky.) What do y'all think??


	11. Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Lunar New Year everyone! I'm changing the update schedule for a few weeks- March is my birthday month and as a sorta reverse gifting scenario, I'm going to update March 1st, 15th, and 31st, then go back to once a month on or around the 15th of April. The chapters might be a little shorter since I've almost caught up to the written and edited chapters I have ready D:
> 
> Also, I've been meaning to add this- all of the chapter titles are song titles, so here's the list so far. (I've found some of my favourite music through fanfic!)
> 
> 1) Prologue - no song :(  
> 2) Hometown Glory - Adele  
> 3) Die with Your boots On - Iron Maiden  
> 4) All of Our Sins - VNV Nation  
> 5) High Hopes - Panic! At the Disco  
> 6) Demons - Imagine Dragons  
> 7) I. Heroes - David Bowie  
>  II. Shot in the Dark - Within Temptation  
>  III. Joy - VNV Nation  
> 8) See Who I Am - Within Temptation  
> 9) Uprising - Muse / Sabaton  
> 10) Angel of Wrath - Samael  
> 11) Paradise (What About Us?) - Within Temptation feat. Tarja
> 
> Now, ONWARDS!

Content warnings: brief descriptions of self mutilation, blood

* * *

The windowsill was just large enough to accommodate Soffriel if he pulled his knees up, braced his back against one side, and his feet against the other. It seemed like an awkward place to read but undeath had its perks and staying in a cramped position for several hours without discomfort was one of them. Here, he had plenty of light to read by while the sun rose.

The book was one of the fiction works from the Scholomance.

He picked it up out of curiosity- what sort of story did his mentor enjoy reading?

Apparently, adventure stories.

The main character was a high elf intended to take over the family business of jewelcrafting but instead she hung around the Silvermoon harbour, yearning to sail. She left her disappointed family and spent some years working aboard various ships until she was knowledgeable enough to purchase and captain her own vessel.

But then a mysterious mage stole her ship and as she chased him up and down the coast of the Eastern Kingdoms aboard a rented, dilapidated boat, she picked up a crew of stray characters. Just as the captain caught up to the mage and her stolen ship, the door opened and Ysadéan returned.

Soffriel tore his attention away from the captain stringing her bow to fire on the mysterious mage.

"How is Jaina?"

"She lives." Ysadéan closed the door and leaned against it. Soffriel abandoned the windowsill and book, and put one arm around her waist to steady her. "Oh, I'm not _that_ tired."

"You're tripping over your own feet, _shan'do._ "

"Hmph," she said, but she patted his hand and let him help her to a cushioned chair. Soffriel laid a blanket over her lap and sat down cross-legged in front of her. "What happened?"

Kel'Thuzad was carrying Jaina when they returned from the siege. She was pale and bloody, unconscious in his arms, and barely breathing. Ysadéan, the tauren paladin, and a Forsaken priestess went to her aid and worked on her for hours in turn.

"There was a fierce battle and Jaina led the charge."

Pride welled up inside of him and he couldn't help but smile.

Ysadéan leaned forward and her eyes brightened behind her veil. "Jaina is from Kul Tiras!"

"What?" Soffriel glanced toward the book left in the windowsill. "It's a real place? I thought the author made it up."

"Yes! It is a real place." She sat back. "I asked the lich if she had any kin."

Soffriel's eyes widened. "It was that bad?"

Ysadéan nodded. "But she is _strong_. She has a brother in Stormwind and her mother lives in Kul Tiras, where Jaina was born. Of all places! Kul Tiras!"

"Kul Tiras is... important?"

Ysadéan clasped her hands together and broke into a brilliant smile.

"This is a story I have not yet told you! I will tell you. This is a story from our darkest hour, when we of the Antler fled into exile. We took nothing with us and the only light came from our own eyes. They say Elune herself hid her face that night- the fools in Darnassus will tell you it was from horror at what we had done but in truth she could not bear to see her beloved children quarrel."

Ysadéan spread her hands and a thread of smoky black appeared between them, speckled with tiny points of light.

"We followed the stars. We ran and we rode, always to the east, until we came to the shore of the sea. We found help among the ports, and bought our passage with toil and magic. We sailed for many weeks. Eventually we saw land but the sailors were loath to approach the place, so we swam. We found people there. They called the place Drustvar and themselves the Drust."

The thread of darkness curled into a disk and the flitting sparkles coalesced into another disk, this one of silver light, side by side.

"The Drust accepted us; they did not fear our magic for they too held life with one hand and death with the other. We taught them our craft and those that learned it named themselves Thornspeakers. Some of us stayed with the Drust. The rest followed the stars to Val'sharah. Years passed and humans came to Drustvar. They tried to make an accord with the Drust, but the king ordered his people to war. The Thornspeakers urged the king to offer peace and to welcome the humans as they had done with us. After all, the Drust and humans share common ancestry, while we shared none."

Ysadéan directed floating sparks in a figure-eight between the circles of dark and light.

"The king would not hear them. The Thornspeakers despaired for they loved their people but, with great anguish, they took up arms and sided with the humans. We took no part in the conflict- we could not fight the people who welcomed us on their shore, nor could we fight others who came with empty hands and harrowed hearts as we did. When the war ended, the Thornspeakers were the only Drust who survived. It was not the outcome the Drust or humans wanted but it was done and the peace that the king would not offer to the humans was now offered by the humans to the living Thornspeakers."

The disk of darkness passed slowly across the light; the little stars twinkled brighter. Ysadéan held the magic at the moment when there was nothing but a slender crescent of light remaining, and then let the black disk consume the light. The stars glittered in its absence.

"They became allies. They became partners and lovers. They had children. The Thornspeakers taught the Kul Tiran humans druidcraft, as we taught them years before. The human druids of Kul Tiras went on to teach another human kingdom-" She paused and touched her chin with one finger. "I do not recall the name. Jil- Gal-?"

"Gilneas?" Gilneas was also mentioned in the book, though it didn't say anything about druids. Soffriel thought it was another made-up place.

"Yes! Gilneas. Sister kingdoms, sea-farers."

The disk of light re-emerged from the darkness. Ysadéan held them equal and then the magic changed shape: the pale light became a stag with branching antlers; the smoky black became a doe with violet eyes.

"The Thornspeakers have forgotten what we are. The humans have never known. Now and always, two of our kind keep watch over the land in thanks for welcoming us so many years ago. Most of our people have travelled from Val'sharah and taken up the mantle of guardian as Athair or Athainne once or more in their lifetime."

Ysadéan moved her veil aside to reveal her dull silver eyes and the mass of scar tissue gnarled across her forehead.

"I have happily been Athair or Athainne several times and I defended the land without regret."

She let the fringe of leather fall again. The magical deer faded in a mist of sparkles.

"And so the story is caught up to us. But now I understand that my part in it is not over. In Val'sharah, I felt the will of Elune lift my eyes to the sky once again. So I set out, following the stars away from Val'sharah as best I could. As I wandered, I heard tell of a living king of death among the humans. How strange! I thought. How captivating! So I followed the whispers and-" She reached out and laid her hand on Soffriel's cheek, "-I found you! Lost in a terrible fugue, cursed among your people, but not among _ours._ No _kaldorei_ is so far from Elune that they cannot be loved by her. She needs only to look upon them."

Soffriel cupped his hand over hers. "And you have come to show me the way back into her sight."

"I have marked you as one beloved of the Antler and offered you the road. You have only to walk it."

"It is… not easy."

Ysadéan shook her head. "No. It is never easy for us. We are pursued by all of those who do not understand us, who would condemn us, imprison us, and kill us. They come for us with teeth and claws, with weapons, words and hatred. We evade them with each step we take. And Elune waits at the end, among the stars."

She sat back.

"But we were speaking of Jaina and her homeland. _Thero'shan,_ I do not believe in coincidence. I have guarded and defended the land of Drustvar, of Kul Tiras. That place is integral to our history; we were welcomed, we had a place to perfect our blessings and to pass them on. Such a place is sacred. Now here, in this land, Jaina welcomes foreign travellers as her ancient Drust forebears once did and gives them sanctuary."

She folded her hands into the sleeves of her robes.

"I am here to guard and defend this place. And perhaps I can convince Jaina to let me teach and pass on our blessings once more."

"She's let Kel'Thuzad teach. That's encouraging."

"That has less to do with him and more to do with you, Soffriel. Jaina knows his magic, his skills, and him. She knows nothing of myself. She does not trust me."

"I think Kel'Thuzad knows something of your magic. Not how to use it but that it exists."

She made a delicate snort. "He knows rhymes passed through a thousand mouths, corrupted by malice and passing years. But…" One of her ears flicked towards the door and they both paused, listening. The lop-sided, dragging footsteps of a skeletal guardian shuffled down the hallway outside and they were both silent until it passed.

The tips of Ysadéan's eyebrows twitched up and she smiled. "Perhaps, with enough knowledge, _he_ could convince Jaina to let me teach."

"He does like strange magic."

"Ah… that is his weakness _and_ his strength." She stretched. "For now, I will rest. Jaina may need me again." Soffriel stood and offered his hand. She accepted and he helped her onto the bed.

With a sigh, she slipped into her true form, tucked long black legs under her body and closed softly glowing eyes.

"Rest well, _shan'do_."

Soffriel glanced at the book in the windowsill.

Instead, he gathered up his study materials, left the room, and headed for the mess hall. It was morning and he expected to see the usual gathering of living Citadel denizens but there were only three people in the hall. One of them was fast asleep at a table, face pillowed on their arms. Soffriel recognized her as the tauren romance novelist. The other two were ghouls, quietly sweeping the floor.

Soffriel selected some food and tip-toed out of the hall.

When he reached his destination, he tucked his books under one arm and carefully stacked the plate of muffins and fruit on top of the steaming mug of hot chocolate. With his now free hand, he knocked softly on the door.

There was no immediate answer.

He knocked again. "Kinndy? It's Soffriel."

_Oh. It's still early. She might be asleep._

After a few seconds, he heard the scuffle of stocking feet. Kinndy opened the door a crack and blinked at him. "I don't really feel like studying."

"That's okay." He held out the plate of food. "I didn't see you in the mess hall yesterday."

He hadn't seen her at all the day before, nor the day after she returned from the siege, bloody and burned, and cried "I'm sorry, I can't-!" before she bolted from the lab.

She pushed her tangled fringe out of her face. "Oh." She took the plate.

"And this." He offered the hot chocolate.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. How are you doing?"

She looked down at the food. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk?"

She hesitated a moment, then nudged the door open with her elbow. "Okay."

Despite her assertion that she didn't feel like studying, there were books, pens, and texts spread out neatly on her bed, along with a nest of blankets. Soffriel sat down cross-legged on the floor beside the bed and settled his books in his lap.

Kinndy closed the door with her toe and stared into the hot chocolate for a full minute. "I feel really stupid."

"Why?"

"I… I didn't think about it when Jaina asked whether we wanted to go with her." She remained by the door, staring through the mug. "I didn't think about what it really meant." She trudged to the bed, set the food on her nightstand, and crawled into her blanket nest. "I should've- _you_ said 'no'. I should've thought about why you said no. You've actually been in a fight before."

"Yes."

"And you- I mean… I think I killed people." She fiddled with the tassels on one of the blankets. "I don't know. Like, I know _why_ we were fighting. But it's different up close."

"It is."

"And I just-" She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I didn't even know Zaphine. I talked to her for maybe two minutes? I only knew her name because you told me. She kept looking for her dad."

"Did she find him?"

Kinndy shook her head. "I don't think so." She pulled a thread out of the tassel. "Yeah. Mostly I just feel stupid."

"That's okay."

She looked up. "Is it? I mean… What did you… The first time you were in a battle. How did you feel afterward?"

"Er. The first time I was in a battle I died."

"Oh! Oh my god, I'm so sorry-"

"You need not apologize."

She smoothed the blanket over her knees. "…can I ask about what happened after that?"

Soffriel lowered his gaze. "I remember very little. Some orders they gave me and… _his_ voice in my head. I remember when they gave me a Death Charger. I was worried because I had never ridden a horse."

"You never rode a horse?"

"No."

"I thought everybody knew a little bit about riding. I mean, even I know and I've lived in cities all my life."

"My people ride sabercats. You sit differently on a horse."

"Oh, right. Yeah, I guess you'd have to."

Kinndy was quiet again for another minute.

"I was okay until Zaphine. I was scared but even the adventurers looked scared sometimes. And Jaina never treated me like I was in her way or holding her back or anything. Everything she did, she had me with her, until Zaphine, and I don't think Jaina knew. I think she just saw that we got separated and thought the battle was too dangerous. And she was right. She was right to send me back." She began picking at the tassel again. "Or maybe she felt like she couldn't protect me."

"She cares about you a lot."

"I know."

Kinndy was silent for long enough that Soffriel opened one of his books. After a few minutes, she reached for the hot chocolate and moved over to the edge of her bed. "Is that your necromancy stuff?"

"Yes." He kept his hand over the page with the illustration of a partially-flayed orc skull.

"Do you like learning it?"

Soffriel cocked his head. "I don't _dislike_ it."

"That's not the same as liking it."

"No."

As a healer, Soffriel learned through instinct, under the direction of masters. There were no pages of labelled drawings; he followed the veins and sinews of living people with an innate sense he no longer possessed. Sometimes, when he traced the inked lines through diagrams, he felt a wisp of memory but he could never hold on to it.

Kinndy furrowed her eyebrows. "What about Ysadéan? What does she think about necromancy?"

"She calls it 'callow butchery'."

"But she's okay with you studying it?"

"She agrees that it is the right path for me."

Kinndy sipped the hot chocolate. "Jaina used a lot of portals and shields during the siege. And ice. I don't remember her doing anything that was obviously necromancy. Some of it looked like shadow magic maybe."

"Some of the spells that I was... given when I was made a Death Knight are similar to shadow magic."

"The stuff that Kel'Thuzad did _definitely_ looked like necromancy." She shuddered. "Except when he was casting with Jaina."

"Oh?"

"Remember what their magic was like inside the spellcage? Think of that but outside and _bigger_. King Anduin and like twenty adventurers made a shield and they walked out of it and-" Kinndy made dramatic gestures and nearly spilled the hot chocolate. "Total annihilation. Absolutely mad. I wonder if they do anything together that's good? You know? They're so powerful together. Imagine if they _made_ something rather than destroying stuff."

"Together they made the spells that Jaina wore."

"Yeah, but that… Hm." She wrinkled her nose. "The support one was broken when she came back."

"Kel'Thuzad told me that physical damage is sometimes strong enough to break a spell. We saw what it took to build it. Imagine what it took to break it."

Kinndy sat back. "I didn't know that. Whoa."

The silence stretched on and they both turned their attention to their books. Kinndy moved the plate of food to her blanket nest and opened a worn leather-bound tome. After some time nibbling and reading, she began to take notes.

The light through Kinndy's window moved across the floor in slow hours.

"How can you sit like that without moving for so lo- Dumb question, don't answer that."

"We should take a break." Soffriel blinked at the page. "I've read this six times and it makes less sense each time."

"Let me look at it."

He held the book against his chest. "No. We need a break."

Now there were people in the mess hall and an air of tired celebration. They talked in small groups, trading stories, sharing food, and leaning on their companions. Some of the more lively adventurers showed new scars and dented armour. _They chose to come back here, where they are all welcome. Jaina has made them welcome._

Someone had pinned a tattered Horde flag on one wall. It was covered with hundreds of small symbols. Soffriel paused. Some of the symbols were words in Common and a few in Darnassian.

"Thazmin Merrygear," said Kinndy. She pointed to words Soffriel couldn't read. "Bellabeth Coppercloak… Rahn Tinkwhistle... These are all names."

"Yes."

While they were looking, Kagra joined them. She offered a quill and ink. "You got someone to add?"

Soffriel straightened up. "These are the honoured dead."

"Yep."

Kinndy swallowed audibly. "Is Zaphine's name here?"

Kagra pointed to a short collection of letters in what Soffriel presumed was troll script. "Right there."

Soffriel hesitated a moment, then accepted the quill, and carefully spelled her name in Darnassian underneath. Kagra's lip curled but she said nothing.

"There's so many," Kinndy whispered. She turned and looked up at Kagra. "Thank you. Thank you so much. My name would be here if it wasn't for you. I can't even begin to..."

Kagra grunted. "You did well out there. It would be a shame to lose a talent like you."

Kinndy turned back to the flag.

"They're all dead," she whispered. Soffriel saw tears ready to spill down her cheeks. He touched her shoulder.

"Let's go sit on the front stairs. The days are getting shorter. We should appreciate the sunlight while it lasts."

She glanced up at him.

"Sure."

* * *

The healers left hours ago and Jaina was still asleep. Kel'Thuzad had taken over a chair beside her bed and a book from her bedside table.

Thankfully it was a spicy romance novel and not some of the other 'light reading' she did that involved too many numbers and not enough forbidden passions. A good quarter of the book was smut and the plot was surprisingly complex. _Perfect._

"The sequel is in the drawer, if you're interested." Jaina's voice was so quiet it was almost obscured by the sound of him turning the page.

He set the book aside.

"Good to know."

Colour had returned to her cheeks and lips, and the shadows beneath her eyes had faded. Jaina took a deep breath and pushed herself up to sit, cloaked in blankets, before he could stop her.

"How long…?"

"More than two days since the siege. About six hours since you were last awake."

She ran her fingers through her loose hair. The motion was slow but her hands were steady.

"I don't feel as bad as I did after Deathwing." She stretched and again her movement was slow but strong. Her voice was still paper thin. "I feel like rubbish but not any worse than I did before the siege."

"The brace did its job then."

She nodded. "It absorbed most of the physical damage. We can reinforce it in the places that failed and continue to extend it. I think what finally broke it was the compounding small injuries; all the scrapes and strains and overall fatigue."

"Hmm. It couldn't stand up to continuous minor abuse _and_ mitigate larger blows simultaneously. Perhaps we could construct a repair system within the spell rather than reinforce it."

"Good idea! I'm very impressed with the overall performance. Not bad for a first try."

"The healers still had a lot of work to do afterwards."

"Yes, but I've returned to my previous condition. It can stabilize me."

_For only so long._ "As long as you keep a handful of healers around."

"True, but I don't see Ysadéan leaving any time soon." Jaina examined her hands. "She wasn't alone?"

"No. She had help. Jaina, I trust Ysadéan to keep your condition secret but others may not be so quiet about it. People are going to learn that you are weakening."

She looked from him to her window.

"I know."

_They will come for you._ "Right now, Icecrown has an army but if we are attacked repeatedly, that army will weaken with every battle. Icecrown will not survive without-"

"Reinforcements?"

"Yes." He waited for her to answer but she remained focused on the window. "This place that you are building will only be a sanctuary if it can be defended. You know how Azeroth is."

"I know what you want to recommend."

"I want a King capable of leading an army that will crush any assault."

"Since when do you care about-" She shook her head. "No. You're right. Right about the need for defense."

"My most basic desire is my own preservation, of course."

Jaina turned to him. "You're not a man driven by his most basic desires."

Kel'Thuzad met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. Instead of answering, he fetched a glass and a pitcher of water. "Drink."

She did and set the glass on the bedside table. "If Ysadéan knows, then the other healers who attended me after Deathwing must know too."

"Probably."

"I suppose it would take some time for them to convince a force large enough to mount an assault against Icecrown." Jaina bared her teeth. "Can Azeroth just _stop_ -? Please. For a year. For six bloody months. Two weeks! I need a vacation. _Everyone_ needs a vacation."

"That's not a bad idea. Were you still lucid after the cheerful pandaren fellow summoned up his ancestor?"

"Perfectly. I heard what the ghost said. His words have run through my mind over and over. _Find peace within yourself so that you may share it with the world around you..."_

"Not that part. The part after that where he extended an open invitation to visit his land."

"No, I think I was unconscious by then." Her expression brightened. "I would love to visit Pandaria. What I do remember was beautiful."

"He left you- us- a sort of hearthstone. It can send and receive messages as well as transport a person to a specific place. Let me retrieve it from the lab."

"Thank you."

* * *

Kel'Thuzad opened the lab to discover the stove burning low and some books misplaced. _Soffriel and Kinndy. Studying even when their mentors are otherwise engaged. Good._

There was a noise in the hall behind him; the softest _click_ on stone. If the person had meant to be silent, they would have been. He growled under his breath.

"You again."

Ysadéan shrugged off her deer form and followed him into the lab.

"Why are you here this time?"

"I would like to show you some magic. It is not a kind that you have seen…"

He turned. She held out her right hand, palm up, drew a short dagger from her robes with her left, and sliced across her palm twice.

"I've seen that before."

She didn't answer. Instead she cupped her hand to hold the pooling blood. Now she returned the dagger to its hiding place and retrieved a wooden spindle from another pocket. She held the spindle below her bleeding palm and slowly, carefully, she tilted her hand. A thin stream of blood touched the tip and as it began to drip down the wood, Ysadéan turned the spindle. For a minute they were both silent as Ysadéan spun her blood into glowing thread.

Finally, she mended her wound with a flourish of green light and tied off the thread.

She held out the spindle.

Kel'Thuzad took it from her. The thread was softly luminous and as he studied it, the glow pulsed like a heartbeat. He touched it with one finger. It was warm but not wet.

"And what am I supposed to do with this?"

"Use it to stitch up the corpse you are hiding in your lair."

"I don't know what you mean. Perhaps we should switch to Darnassian."

"Use it to stitch up the corpse you are hiding in your lair." The word she used for 'lair' meant something closer to 'private home' and the word she used for corpse had an inflection that made the word a play on the sound for 'child'.

_Uh oh._

"I've seen your needlework on many of the cadavers that roam these halls. You have a deft hand, but cotton thread rots and cuts into cold meat. This will not rot and it will spread vitality to the tissue it binds." She folded her hands. "I have answers if you have questions."

Kel'Thuzad looked from her to the spindle. The glow faded until the thread looked like perfectly normal scarlet cotton.

"What are you?"

" _Yadrassil'elah._ "

"'One with a crown of bone'. What does that mean in Common?"

Ysadéan smiled. "A necromancer."

Kel'Thuzad raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"I know what you are trying to do. I saw what you did for Soffriel. I know why there is a corpse in your lair. You're practising and refining your craft. You will give Jaina the best work you can do." She held out her smooth, unblemished right hand. "Let me help you, Kel'Thuzad. Let me give my blessing to your King."

He frowned. "Jaina doesn't want to be undead."

"Jaina only knows one kind of undeath."

Kel'Thuzad looked Ysadéan up and down. "Are you...?"

"Of course not! A _good_ necromancer should never be undead."

"Now that's just rude."

She pressed her fingertips together and made a shallow bow. "Apologies. In our tradition, a necromancer should never be undead. In yours it is different. You are quite good at what you do."

"Yes, I am." He moved to the desk and found the Pandarian hearthstone in a drawer. "Fascinating as this is, I have other things to do."

"Very well. I will wait until you call on me."

He nearly asked, _And if I don't?_ but decided he didn't need to hear her reply.

_Yadrassil'elah. There's a word for it in Darnassian after all._

* * *

When Kel'Thuzad returned to Jaina's bedchamber she had blankets and pillows strategically positioned to prop her up and keep her from catching a chill. The Helm of Domination, sheets of calculations, sketches, and books occupied the rest of her bed. Her voluminous black fur cloak lay over her shoulders, almost swallowing her pale body in the folds. None of these things had been within easy reach when he left the room.

"Jaina, you just woke up. Don't push yourself."

"I feel fine- as fine as I can. Don't look at me like that. I'm okay, really. _Really._ "

He set the Pandarian hearthstone on her bedside table. "What's all this for?"

She took a deep breath. "I can almost see it. It's becoming clearer and clearer when I dream and I'm remembering it when I wake. The closer I am to undeath, the more I can see. The more the Lich King takes, the more it opens to me." She held a sheet of paper out to him. "Look at this."

He took the paper from her. "The feedback loop? Completed?"

She nodded. "And some of the other spells bound to it." She sorted through the papers. "This one. Here- and this. Those too. These are incomplete… I can't see more than shadows."

Kel'Thuzad examined one page after another.

"I can find them," she said. "I can find the spells that bind the Lich King's power to a willing recipient. I just need to be a little closer. Just a little bit."

He resumed his seat beside her bed. "A little bit closer to undeath you mean."

"Yes. A little closer to understanding this curse." She met his gaze. "We can control it. I can tolerate it. I can see the edge now- the precipice, the point of no return. Bring me to the edge- keep me at the edge- and I can find the answer."

Before he could speak she reached for his hand.

"And… I found something else."

Jaina had improved her mental shields to the point where Kel'Thuzad felt only whispers of her strongest emotions. Now, she opened them completely and drew him in.

For a moment, he felt her turmoil, her exhausting fear, unexpected piercing loneliness, and the unshakeable foundation of her beliefs beneath it all.

**See.**

What he saw was a flourishing ecology of magic: individual spells bonded to regulating hubs, chains of three dimensional arrays, and a substrate built upon the now-familiar feedback loop.

_This is the Helm._

**It's almost beautiful, isn't it?**

It was. He identified some of the spells that Jaina had transcribed. There was so much to learn, so much to test-

**Look.**

She turned his attention to a thread of sapphire light amidst the intricate landscape. It wasn't an integral part of the whole; it was knotted to sections of spells, pierced and pulled by the thorny gears of smoky black arrays, tangled up in the architecture of the Helm.

He was sure she felt him shudder, felt his grip on her hand tighten. Felt the moment of connection, recognition, completion-

_Jaina..._

**Your soul.**

She handed the Helm to him. He took it from her; cold, unyielding metal, carrying the faintest gasp of warmth from her touch.

He stared into the empty visor. "I felt it but I could never grasp the shape of it. I couldn't do more than guess at the edges."

For a long time, he sorted through reactions, unable to fully complete any emotion. Finally, he settled on a sense of peace.

Jaina had picked up a pen and was tapping it against her teeth in thought. He didn't remember seeing her move.

"...I don't know anything about extracting a soul from a phylactery, nevermind from spells this complex, but if we can see it clearly, surely we can unbind it."

"We?"

"Someone somewhere will tell me that eternal servitude is what you deserve but... it's not. You deserve to live with your mistakes and choices, like everyone else."

He grimaced and handed the Helm back to her. "I've never felt so touched and threatened at the same time."

She gave a snort of laughter. "You should-" Her words sputtered and she clasped a hand over her mouth, fighting the rattle in her throat.

"Breathe. Jaina, breathe."

She took one long, strangled breath and fell into wracking coughs that left her shaking. Her skin lost any hint of colour, except for the smear of blood on her lips and chin.

"Dammit." Her voice crackled. "I miss... when feeling... 'fine' meant... I could laugh... without ending up in tears." She took a sip from the glass Kel'Thuzad offered. Blood swirled into the water. "I hate this."

He took the glass back and suddenly the peace within him broke. The emotions and gnawing thoughts that he successfully shoved into closed corners of his mind for years clawed at the walls.

_Jaina only knows one kind of undeath._ He smashed the echo of Ysadéan's words. _It doesn't matter. Jaina doesn't want to be undead._

And that meant someday she would _end_.

It didn't matter who the next Lich King would be. It wouldn't be Jaina. Someday she would collapse and not rise, fight to breathe and fail, and he knew- he had seen it so many times- he knew that her final moments would be nothing but terror. It didn't matter how brave she was, how strong she was. She would fight and while she was losing, she would _know_ that she was losing.

Or maybe it would be like this, while he sat beside her silent, struggling, sleeping body. Maybe he would see her chest go still beneath the blankets and though he would know with practised certainty, he would touch her throat and find her cold.

And she would be gone.

Jaina didn't want to be undead.

She would be gone.

Kel'Thuzad dropped the glass. He clutched the front of his robes so tightly his pathetic, blunt claws ripped into the fabric. The tangled bright blue of his soul burned in his mind's eye. It slipped free of the shackles, unwound from the chewing gears, and eternity opened before him.

" _What will a life beyond the human span do to you, I wonder?"_

" _I'm willing to find out, if circumstances allow."_

He forced his fingers to relax and leaned down to pick up the shattered glass.

"Kel'Thuzad?"

He closed his eyes. "It slipped." Slowly, he sat up, holding a palmful of shards. "I'll get rid of these."

He left her room, deposited the broken glass in a bin near the mess hall, and stood outside her door, bludgeoning his thoughts back into their corners.

_Jaina doesn't want to be undead. She would never forgive me._

_Jaina only knows one kind of undeath._

The books and sketches were put away and she was tucked back into the covers when he returned but the lamp at her bedside was still lit.

He resumed his seat.

She rolled over and propped her chin in her hands. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Where?"

"Vacation in Pandaria. I'll take Kinndy and Soffriel if they want to come along."

Kel'Thuzad tried not to think about the corpse in his lair.

"I'll pass. Khadgar seems to have developed a keen interest in my whereabouts beyond Icecrown. I wouldn't want the kind people of Pandaria to bear witness to any argument that might arise between us should he find me abroad."

"Mm. I suppose you're right."

"He could have at least thanked me though."

" _Lor'themar_ thanked you. I didn't see that coming." She slapped both hands against the mattress. "And you know what else I didn't see coming and I'm still mad I missed?"

"Tyrande Whisperwind? You might have mentioned it."

"Have I? _Tyrande Whisperwind_! At the gates of Orgrimmar! Helping the Darkspear crush the rest of Hellscream's defenses! With Sentinels and sabercat cavalry! I will never, ever forgive the universe for making me miss that." She pointed a finger at him. "You should have never told me. I dreamed about it afterward!"

"And miss you gushing about her like a schoolgirl? Oh no." He grinned. "I had no idea you carried such a torch for her."

"It's not like that! She's just- she's essentially a demi-god. She's 10,000 years old!"

" _And_ she's really pretty."

"And she's really pretty!" Jaina pouted for a second. "Meanwhile, I was down in the catacombs covered in blood that was half mine. I guess we'll just have to wait for the next cataclysmic event and hope she shows up, right? I know, don't tempt fate, etc."

"I fear that's a given fact and needs no encouragement from fate."

"Ugh." Her breath rattled when she inhaled and he watched her focus on taking control of every breath. The effort stole her excitement. She tugged the blankets close around herself. Her brow furrowed but she said nothing.

"A copper for your thoughts."

"They're all dismal. Not even worth a copper."

"Share them with me so they don't plague your dreams."

She closed her eyes. "I won't make it to the next cataclysm." She opened one eye. "Damn this curse. I'll never meet Tyrande."

"You could always try a vacation in Darnassus."

Jaina grimaced. "I don't think I would be well-received."

"Maybe not."

She was quiet for long enough that Kel'Thuzad thought perhaps she had fallen asleep.

"Can you put out the lamp?"

He did so. Wan moonlight silvered the edges of the shadows and made Jaina's hair a streak of radiant white.

"Ysadéan asked me something this morning. I wasn't entirely awake but I remember. She asked, 'when was the last time you were truly happy?'"

Kel'Thuzad grunted. "She asked me the same thing a few weeks ago."

"What did you say?"

"Something flippant. What did you say?"

"I told her I would have to think about it." He could tell that she had opened her eyes; they cast a faint blue glow on the bedsheets. "All I ever wanted was to study..."

Kel'Thuzad leaned back and stared at the soaring black ceiling. "Me too. Believe it or not."

"No, I believe it."

"When _was_ the last time you were truly happy, Jaina?"

She sighed. "In the lab. Reading books I could never imagine opening. Sitting on the floor drawing spellmaps with bone powder." Her voice shook. "Teaching _apprentices!_ Learning from you. Learning _with_ you."

Kel'Thuzad opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

"All I ever wanted… It wasn't this. I wasn't raised to rule. Theramore was an accident. My father died. I did my best. They had a mayor. A city council. Guildmasters." She swallowed. "I had a tower. Now I have a Citadel. And the Scourge… They're the easy part now. I don't know how to rule living people. I don't want to. But here we are." She shifted up onto her elbows to look at him. "What about the Scholomance? Naxxramas? Did you want that?"

"The Scholomance, yes. Naxxramas less so but I did the bidding of my King with enthusiasm."

"Tell me about the Scholomance."

"The Headmaster part- well. Somebody had to do it and you know what they say: if you want it done right, do it yourself. The part I enjoyed were my students. Some of them anyway."

"I suppose you terrorized them."

"Only the ones I liked."

"And you had an apprentice once."

"The best Dalaran could offer me at the time. No, it was in the Scholomance I found the truly brilliant. There are so many people the world casts aside for so many reasons. Most of them are irrelevant. Useless chaff. But there are a few- in every species- diamonds in the rough, I suppose. Some of them found me and I gave them knowledge."

"I saw what you gave them. I know what you took from them."

"I gave them a place to learn. We took in people that didn't _fit_. The wrong species for magic. The wrong sex. People that the Kirin Tor said were too old to begin an education. Do you know how many people we taught to _write_?"

"Kel'Thuzad. I know." She coughed. "You did many terrible things and some decent things too. I know. Were you truly happy there?"

"Yes."

"Was it the last time you were happy?"

"No." He couldn't see any of her face except the glow of her eyes. "The last time I was truly happy was… four days ago. In the morning, before our disgustingly punctual apprentices arrived. Soffriel I can understand but Kinndy should sleep in like a normal student now and then."

Jaina laughed and for once it didn't end in a coughing fit. "I don't remember anything special about that morning."

"There was nothing in particular." He drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair. "I like teaching. Some of my students were talented mages, talented necromancers. Some were well-studied enough to compete with those who had a natural affinity for magic. All of the good ones were ambitious. But my god, Jaina, there is no one like you."

She took a shaky breath and her eyes sparkled with tears.

"When I... when I go. You'll be a-alone. I don't... I never thought…"

Kel'Thuzad put his face in his hands and did everything he could to keep his thoughts crammed into the darkest corners of his mind.

"Come here." She patted the bed. "Come here."

He hesitated.

"Just… lay with me. Please."

He got one knee up on the bed before she pushed a hand against his chest. "For Light's sake, take your boots off! What kind of monster are you?"

"Remember I was raised in the wilderness by hermits."

"It shows."

He kicked his boots off and climbed over her. In this body, he was almost a foot taller than her and when he spooned against her back, she fit neatly under his chin, in his arms. She leaned against him.

"Thank you for being my teacher." Her voice trembled. "Thank you for being my friend."

He kissed her hair. "Thank you for being everything you are."

Jaina fell asleep quickly and if she dreamed, they didn't trouble her. Kel'Thuzad spent the night fixated on the soft rhythm of her breathing until it lulled him into a trance and the thoughts he wouldn't name went quiet in their cages.

He came fully alert when someone knocked on the door.

"Noooo…" Jaina groaned into her pillow.

Kel'Thuzad put on his boots and went to rain down ruin on the interloper.

Ysadéan smiled at him. "Good morning."

Kel'Thuzad actually could kill with a look if he wanted to. "Good morning, Ysadéan."

"Has your King any need for me?"

"I'm fine," said Jaina from the bed. "Thank you."

Ysadéan put her hand on Kel'Thuzad's sleeve. "May I borrow your servant? I have some need for his skill with a needle and thread."

"I think I can spare the time," he said in an amiable tone through clenched teeth. "Bring back something nice for me from Pandaria."

Jaina chuckled. "I'll find some gaudy jewelry."

"Excellent."

He closed the door and turned a searing gaze on the druid.

She put a hand over her mouth. "Oh! Oh dear! I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"What kind of _healer_ wakes a patient before the sun is up?"

"One who knows that their patient rises to pace the halls if she is not otherwise occupied." She switched to Darnassian. "Forgive me. I am looking forward to our collaboration. It is the best time of year to do this work."

Kel'Thuzad narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Let's discuss particulars in your lair. I'm eager to see the material you've selected for this project."

Kel'Thuzad didn't have much use of his room- he had little need to sleep and very few personal belongings- but it served as somewhere to keep himself when he required solitude.

It also served as his own miniature laboratory.

Ysadéan gave the room a quick once-over and then approached the head of the metal table and leaned close to the face of the corpse. For a minute she remained still and appeared to be doing nothing.

"Yes. A willing soul, though perhaps a challenging puzzle. Now, there are three important things before we begin."

From hidden pockets in her gown, she brought out her small dagger, a file, the spindle, a tool he didn't recognize, and a piece of bone.

"From your antlers, I presume?"

"Yes. First: always, _always_ give something of yourself." She held up the file and the unknown tool. "We carve any bones they are missing."

He raised an eyebrow. "You've got your work cut out for you here. What did you give of yourself to Soffriel?"

"Have you not found it? One of his vertebrae."

"I think Anu'Shukhet might have shattered your gift."

She shook her head. "Oh, no. Not that one. It's the one at the base of his skull. A very important gift. Now, the second thing-" She carefully parted her hair to expose one of the bony pedicles where her antlers would grow. There was a small bump, covered with black velvet.

"This is why it is the best time of year to work."

She raised the dagger and cut deep into the growing antler. Bright red blood welled up from the wound and she picked up the spindle. As she spun, she continued to speak.

"And the third thing: I must know her name."

Kel'Thuzad looked down at the corpse.

"Zaphine."

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I've been sitting on this for a couple of years, picking at it on and off when I have time. Originally I wanted to start posting it when I had at least 7 chapters written and ready to go but, hey, the world's gone sideways, we're all stuck in quarantine and need entertainment, and I have more time to write, so here we are. Update schedule: probably once a month. I write slowly. Anyway, here we go! I hope you enjoy :D


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